


Meet Me By The Old Oak Tree

by iregretsigningupalready



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (briefly) - Freeform, (eventually) - Freeform, (only briefly in the final chapter tho), Alternate Universe - High School, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Boy Dean Winchester, Best Friends, Blind Castiel, Dean is oblivious to his feelings, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Castiel (Supernatural), Kid Dean Winchester, Kid Fic, M/M, Minor Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester, Nerd Castiel, Nerd Dean Winchester, Smoking, but he's a sweetheart so it's okay, like so so minor it's unreal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-04-27 07:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14420286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iregretsigningupalready/pseuds/iregretsigningupalready
Summary: Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak have been best friends for as long as they could both remember - nothing would ever change that. But when Castiel is diagnosed with Retinitis Pigmentosa, a disease that often leads to blindness, their friendship is suddenly facing challenges that they'd never anticipated before. As Castiel's sight deteriorates, so too does their relationship - but maybe they still have time to make things right between them both.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello if anyone is reading this :) I don't know why I felt like posting this - I've just been writing it on and off for a while and thought I might as well share. As a disclaimer before you read, I can't claim to know a whole lot about Retinitis Pigmentosa - the situation I've vaguely described (to my knowledge) is pretty rare, it doesn't often cause complete blindness, but I've taken artistic license. I hope that's okay! :)

They were six years old when they met. Bright eyed, red cheeked. Castiel was shy and sweet, and Dean was as energetic and boundless as ever.

He wasn’t sure he could remember a time _before_ he knew Castiel.

Cas, as Dean called him.

Dean’s mom was friends with Castiel’s mom, and Castiel had a hundred thousand brothers to talk to and play with, and it didn’t even matter that they lived _three whole streets_ away from each other, because they still saw each other every single day. Either they met up at the park, or Castiel would go to Dean’s for tea, or Dean would be found staying the night in Castiel’s cramped bedroom, a semi-permanent bed made up for him on the floor.

In short, they were best friends. And nothing was ever going to change that.

“Give me your hand,” Dean called out, leaning forwards on the branch he was balanced on. He was quite comfortable where he was. Oak trees were always the easiest to climb, but Castiel was renowned for being clumsier than most. And nervous, too. They were eight now, and time still felt endless. “I’ll pull you up, stop being such a baby.”

Below him, Castiel hesitated, squinting up at Dean who was framed by the sunlight and the leaves. “If I fall, I might break something,” he reasoned.

“Then don’t fall. Dumbass.” Dean leaned forwards some more, his arm still outstretched before he rolled his eyes. He knew Castiel wasn’t as confident as he was sometimes. He was shorter, too, meaning that it would be harder for him to run up the tree like Dean had done. “Grab onto my hand and I’ll pull you up.”

“What if you drop me?”

“I’m not gonna drop you!” Dean scoffed. “Do you trust me?”

The fact that Castiel had to even debate over that personally offended Dean.

Finally, though, he nodded.

He took a few steps back, pulling up his jeans (he’d inherited them from a long line of older brothers) before he was running forward and jumping up as high as he could. Their hands smacked together, Dean fumbling to get ahold of Castiel’s wrist before he was pulling him up slowly, grunting from the exertion. Castiel was a lot heavier than he looked - either that, or Dean was a lot more weaker than he’d thought.

“Jesus,” he groaned as Castiel’s hand scrambled to latch onto the bark of the tree, leaving him to pull himself the rest of the way up. He pulled himself onto the branch, Dean shifting backwards to make sure there was enough room, his hand reaching out occasionally to steady the other. Just in case.

“See? Wasn’t so bad,” Dean smiled as Castiel leaned against the body of the tree, looking a little pale.

The tree split low enough to the ground that it was easy for Dean to climb it. There were low hanging branches that sloped, almost to the ground. And even if they fell, they’d only be landing on softened grass and dirt. Maybe the occasional protruding root. Castiel had nothing to worry about. He just had a bad habit of worrying too much and losing his balance, so Dean half understood his nerves.  
  
“We should come up here more often,” Dean continued, reaching out to run his hands across a branch above his head, picking at the cracks that ran rivers across the tree’s various spines. Ants marched beside his fingertips, obliviously determined. “Maybe even make a treehouse, or somethin’. Except, we’d be the only two people allowed in it.” He looked back at Castiel and raised an eyebrow. “No brothers allowed.”

Castiel smiled, letting out a quiet huff of laughter at that. His head was tipped back against the tree, and he still looked a little nervous. Less than before, though. “Deal,” he murmured. “No one else can come here.”

“It’ll be our spot.”

Dean watched Castiel carefully, still smiling. Always smiling. It was a side effect of being around the other boy. He couldn’t even pinpoint a time when he’d ever been mad at Castiel. Maybe every so often they’d annoy each other, but it was never anything serious.

Once, Castiel had hung up on Dean mid-sentence because it was past his bedtime, and Dean had refused to talk to him at school the next day.

He’d barely even made it until lunch before Castiel had sidled up to him at the start of class and mumbled an apology. And his dumb big eyes looking all stupid and sad had meant that Dean hadn’t been able to remain mad in the slightest.

They sat in the oak tree for what felt like hours, the sun warming their skin through the freckled cracks in the leaves. Time stretched for an eternity in the summer, like it always did, and Dean was content to spend every second of that time with Castiel, climbing trees, or lying in the grass. Whatever Castiel wanted to do, Dean would be there.

The seasons passed, as they were wont to do so, and fall remained a mere blink of the eye. The transitional season. Dean always missed it. One moment it was summer, and the next minute it was the depths of winter, dark and icy cold. And he was curled up in Castiel’s bed with Castiel tucked up against his side, the light from his laptop screen illuminating their faces.

“I don’t like the way Yoda looks,” Castiel whispered over the buzz of the lightsabers on screen, his head resting on Dean’s shoulder.

Dean pushed down the urge to tell Castiel not to talk during the movie. His curiosity got the better of him. “What’s wrong with the way he looks?”

“He’s a tiny green alien, Dean. I hate it.”

“Wow,” Dean snorted. “Y’know that’s racist, right?”

Castiel huffed against him, shifting uncomfortably. “It's not racist - he's not - he's not even _human_ , Dean, how can you say that's _racist_ , it's just-”

“- Cas, relax,” Dean laughed, pushing at the other boy with his shoulder. “I'm only messing with you. But Yoda's way more than just his looks, he's the best character in the series.”

At that, Castiel seemed unconvinced. So Dean told him to shut up until they'd finished all the movies, and only _then_ would Castiel be allowed to express his most honest opinion. No matter how wrong that opinion may be.

Of course, they never got to the end of all the films. Barely even reached the end of the one they'd been watching. It always happened whenever they watched films together - one of them _always_ fell asleep.

This time, it just so happened to be Dean.

One minute he was admiring Han Solo’s hair, wondering if _he_ could ever grow it out like that and look as cool as Han did - then the next minute, he was waking up to a fuzzy blur of faded sunlight seeping in through the cracks of Castiel's shutters, his face pressed against Castiel's pillow and his back warm from someone curled up against him. He hadn't even moved to the bed on the floor this time around. Not that he really minded. Sometimes, when Sammy had nightmares, he'd find his way into Dean's bed and it would be as normal as anything.

Sam didn't snore like Castiel did, though.

The laptop had made its way onto the floor (safely) during the night, the screen still blindingly bright as proof that neither of them had turned it off, and hell, talk about wasting electricity. They were killing the polar bears single-handedly. Global warming was _all their fault._

Dean wasn't even sure he really understood what global warming actually was. He just knew that killing the polar bears was a terrible thing.

He reached over with one hand, still spread out in Castiel's bed on his stomach, and very delicately closed the laptop lid to keep from being too loud and waking Castiel up. He tensed as Castiel shifted behind him, but it was fine. The other boy just found himself tucked even closer into Dean's side.

There was a night light next to Castiel's bedside table; it turned off automatically, though. So Dean supposed they hadn't killed too many polar bears with that one, then. Castiel only had it because sometimes he struggled to see in the dark.

Weird, really. Nobody could ever see in the dark properly - sometimes Dean wondered why it stressed Castiel out so much.

“What are you doing in my bed?”

The sudden question had Dean jerking with surprise, almost rolling over the edge of said bed as he sucked in a panicked breath. “ _Cas_ ,” he hissed, looking over at the other boy properly. "Don't do that.”

“Do what?” Castiel asked innocently, but their faces were close enough together now that Dean could see every single teeny tiny emotion that flickered across the other boy's face. Including the little smirk that twitched at the corners of his mouth. He knew what he had done. He'd deliberately tried to give Dean a heart attack - and all this time, Dean had been worried about Cas killing the _polar bears_ …

“Talk when I'm not expecting it,” he muttered, kicking Castiel's foot beneath the covers. “You scared the crap out of me.”

“ _Language_ ,” Castiel grinned and Dean pulled a face, rolling to face away from Castiel as he tugged the covers off of the other boy and onto himself.

“Shit,” Dean retorted.

“ _Dean_.”

“Balls.”

“Dean, _you can't say that_ -”

“ _Fuck_ , then.”

And then, without another word, Dean was receiving a harsh push into his back, sending him rolling off the side of the bed and collapsing in a pile of blankets and splayed limbs on the floor. And potentially onto Castiel's older brother's laptop. They'd be dead if they broke that.

“I'm never sleeping in your bed ever again,” Dean grumbled from the floor.

It was a lie, though. Sleeping in the same bed wound up becoming _their thing_. Like the treehouse was. And sharing clothes was. And buying each other ice cream only to smash it into each others faces to see whose nose went numb first… Okay. The last one was just something Dean liked to do to Castiel for fun. His reactions were hilarious.

Still. Sleeping in the same bed made a lot more sense than anything else they did together. It meant that they didn't have to constantly make up beds on the floor for each other, and it meant that one of them wouldn't wind up with backache from sleeping on said floor - _and_ it meant that they could slip under the covers and whisper to each other in the dark confines of their homemade bubble until they got too hot and needed fresh air, and no one would ever interrupt them because nobody would ever know. It was just Dean and Cas.

They went to the movies often, of course. After Dean had forced Castiel to watch every single _Star Wars_ that had been released. It was the most important part of his education. And Dean let Castiel hold onto his elbow as he tripped in the dark on the way to finding their seats. Maybe _Star Wars_ could be their thing, too? If only Castiel would stop being such a whiner about it.  

“You know - this new _Star Wars_ had better be as epic as the others,” Dean whispered, obnoxiously loudly over the sound of the popcorn that he rummaged through.

It hadn't been as good as the others. Castiel had bought Dean a chocolate bar to cheer up afterwards - and to stop him from complaining, probably, because the only time Dean was ever quiet was when he was stuffing food into his mouth instead.

They were both nine by the time the next summer rolled around, and it felt like they hadn't aged a day but a lifetime had still passed. Castiel was nowhere near caught up with his older brothers on the height chart etched onto his kitchen door frame, but Dean still lied and told him he was _almost_ as tall as Gabriel.

Things were perfect. Castiel was his best friend, and Dean told him so almost every day.

“If you moved away, would we still be best friends?” he'd ask, only half wondering, but also genuinely worried about the answer.

Castiel hadn't even looked up from the book he'd been reading. “Of course.”

Dean had hummed, looking up at the ceiling as he lay on Castiel's bedroom floor, arms tucked beneath his head. “And if I ever upset you? Would we still be friends, then?”

Again, Castiel hadn't looked over. Dean knew so because he'd been watching his friend out of the corner of his eye. He watched as Castiel pushed his glasses up his nose - they were new, and the frames were still too big for Dean to be used to them yet. They distracted him from Castiel's face.

"It depends on what you did,” Castiel murmured after a while. “But I’d probably still forgive you.”

Dean was glad about that. Almost smug, even. How many people could say they had a best friend who wanted to be best friends forever, and _really_ meant it?

Which is why it didn't make any sense when Castiel didn't show up for school at the end of that semester - and not only did he not turn up to school, but he also stopped picking up the phone. And he stopped answering the front door.

Maybe Dean was just being overdramatic? After all… It had only been three days.

Three days, Dean thought as he fidgeted on Castiel's front doorstep, his school bag on his shoulder and a bag of donuts in his hands. The ones with the strawberry sprinkles on top. They were Castiel's favourites.

It was Castiel's oldest brother who answered the door that day, the same reply as the day before.

“He’s sick,” Michael told Dean, almost impatiently. “He'll be back at school when he's ready.”

“What's wrong with him?” Dean pressed, trying to peek inside, but Michael merely shrugged, accepting the donuts Dean numbly passed his way. “Can you tell him I say hi? And I've been copying up notes for him, so he doesn't need to worry.” It's what Cas always did whenever Dean was off sick.

Still, Michael didn't say much. Just shrugged and closed the door behind him, leaving Dean hovering for a moment before he head home, wondering if Castiel was avoiding _everybody,_ or just Dean. And how sick _was_ he? The worst thing Dean could ever remember having was the flu. But this already seemed worse than the flu.

It wasn't until that night that he got answers.

There was a knock on his bedroom door, and Dean paused the video game he'd been playing, looking over. “Yeah?” he mumbled hesitantly.

His mom appeared around the doorframe, looking uncomfortable. Which was unusual. She usually looked as though she had everything together these days. “Hey, sweetie,” she murmured as she came in, collecting pieces of clothing off the floor absently as she did so. She cleared a space for herself on the end of Dean's bed and Dean sat up, making room for her. “Can we talk?”

It was her serious voice, and alarm bells were already going off in Dean's head as he held on tighter to his PlayStation controller. “Uh, sure. Okay.”

“Have you heard from Castiel?” Her eyes were sad as she spoke. All Dean could do was swallow and shake his head, feeling the building dread. _What the hell is going on?_ “His mom called earlier,” Mary explained softly, her hand reaching out to squeeze Dean's leg. “Castiel's sick, that's why he's not been at school.”

“Has he got cancer?” Dean asked before he could stop himself, his voice cracking. He couldn't help it. Everything felt so serious. And that was the most serious sickness Dean could think of.

Across from him, Mary let out a quiet laugh, wiping her hand across her eyes even though they were dry. “No, honey. He's not got cancer,” she assured him gently. And Dean sat back. Okay. He could just have the flu, then. “According to the doctors, he has a disease called Retinitis Pigmentosa.”

So not just the flu.

Still, Dean didn't understand what the hell either of those words meant, so he just blinked back at his mom blankly.

“It's very rare,” she explained softly.

“Mom, is he going to die?” The question burst out before Dean could stop himself. He just had to know. _But no way could Cas die._

Again, his mother shook her head. “No, sweetheart. It's to do with his eyes.” She pressed her lips together, and Dean chewed the insides of his cheeks. What did that even _mean_? “His mom said that - well… Castiel is starting to lose his sight.”

 _Lose his sight_.

“Like. Go blind?”

Dean thought he asked the question. He wasn't too sure, though. Everything in that moment just started to spiral. He couldn't even concentrate on whatever else his mom was telling him. Science talk - explanations. Symptoms. Causes.

_Lose. His. Sight._

“It’s going to be very hard on him, Dean,” he heard his mom say a while later, once Dean had forced his brain to function again. “But you're his best friend. He's going to need you now, more than ever. But you have to understand that this is a lot for him, Dean. It would be a lot for anyone.”  

Dean just nodded, feeling numb. And, hell, if _Dean_ felt like crap, he couldn't even _imagine_ how Castiel felt.

Although, he got a good idea the next time he saw him.

It had been four days since Castiel had last gone to school, and finally, when Dean had knocked on the front door, it had at last been Castiel who had answered.

He looked tired and dishevelled, in a way he never had done before. And he wasn't wearing his glasses either - Dean _instantly_ wished he'd never complained about them. He just hated how damn sad Castiel looked, stood there with his hand still on the door handle, as though he had half a mind to close the door and shut Dean out all over again.

Well, Dean wasn't going to let him this time.

“Hello,” Castiel said sullenly, not looking at Dean. And Dean didn't even reply.

He reached forwards and tugged Castiel into a fierce hug, his arms wrapped tightly around Castiel's shoulders. Castiel seemed surprised. He didn't return the hug for a lot longer than usual, but when he did, it was like everything fell into place. They were only nine. Castiel wasn't old enough for something like this.

Dean wondered if _anyone_ was ever old enough for something like this.

As they broke apart, Castiel's eyes were red and he wouldn't look at Dean, his hands still lingering on the front of Dean's jacket. “I'm sorry I haven't been at school,” he said quietly.

All Dean could do was laugh weakly. School was the last thing on his mind. “I think you've got an excuse.”

Castiel still wouldn't look at him. And Dean had no idea what he could possibly say to make any of this better.

Eventually, when Castiel did look at him again, his face was oddly determined. Maybe closed off. Dean felt too young to really understand.

“You can come inside. But you have to promise not to talk about it.”

“I promise.”

“Do you mean that?”

“Cas, I mean it. I swear. You can even help me with my math homework, if you want.”

Castiel still looked hesitant for a moment, but then he stepped aside and let Dean indoors.

And that was that. They didn't talk about it. Dean wasn't a science nerd, or anything, and he didn't understand anything to do with Castiel's illness. All he knew was that, at some point in the future, there was a chance his friend could go blind. And that sucked ass. _Majorly_. But he wasn't blind yet, and Dean was going to dedicate every second he could to helping Castiel make the most of his eyes.

From then on, he brought as many DVDs over to Castiel's house as he physically could, making sure that he watched them all. Books weren't as important. Dean could read books to him if he ever couldn't read them for himself. DVDs felt important somehow. Maybe because it was just the smallest, lamest thing Dean could do to try and make things better somehow.

They didn't talk about it at all. Dean didn't comment when he saw Castiel's glasses, lying broken in the trash one day. And he didn't comment when Castiel threw out his night light, either. Apparently he'd stopped being able to see in the dark some time ago - it was a symptom, according to Dean's mom. She was the only one Dean talked to, if he ever did at all.

It was only when they were eleven that things started to get worse. Castiel would bump into things. He would fall down the stairs. Dean stopped pushing him to climb the oak tree the day he watched Castiel trip over the roots that broke free of the soil.

Watching it progress somehow made it even worse. It was like Dean’s hands were tied. All he could do was watch, utterly helpless, from the side-lines. Be nothing more than a witness.

They were eleven. It was almost nine o'clock at night. Castiel was allowed to stay on the phone until half nine these days, and he seemed to wait until the very last minute before bringing up whatever it was that had been on his mind. Dean had known something had been on his mind.

“Dean?” he said over the crackle of the phone line.

Dean stopped in what he was saying - something unimportant about _Lord of the Rings._ They'd just recently watched the movies together. “Yeah?”

Over the phone, Castiel seemed to steel himself. Dean could just imagine the wrinkle of his eyes as he screwed them up, debating over what to say. “My mom thinks I should start being more proactive about my… about, you know.”

Even though it had been years since they had last talked about it, Dean knew almost immediately what Castiel was referring to. It was something that always lay dormant in the back of his mind, waiting to be nudged awake.

“What does proactive mean?” he asked, shifting a little on his bed.

“As in, I should start preparing myself for what's to come.”

He sounded way older than Dean ever did, just then. This sounded like a serious and deep conversation - the kind that only adults had, and the kind that Dean had no idea how to cope with.

“How do you do that?” he asked instead, feeling like a child. As though Castiel wasn't a child, too.

Castiel didn't say anything for a while. “I don't know,” he admitted, his voice so quiet that Dean almost didn't hear what he had said. “Dean. I don't want to lose my sight.”

_Hell._

“I know,” he murmured. He had no idea what else to say.

Over the line, he heard Castiel sniff. It took a moment for Dean to realize he was crying.

“Cas, please don't cry.”

A stupid request. _Stupid._ He should be allowed to cry. The whole ‘boys don't cry’ idea was stupid. It was all stupid. And Dean hated that stupid illness, because it was making his best friend cry over the phone, and Dean could do nothing about it - he couldn't even _hug_ him, for crying out loud.

"I don't want to not be able to see you anymore,” Castiel whispered once he'd gained control of his breathing again.  

Dean thought there were far more beautiful things in the universe that Castiel would be missing out on, than just his dumb face. He didn't say that out loud, though.

“I don't want to not be able to read, or - or write, or… do anything on my own ever again…”

“Blind people can still read,” Dean pointed out quietly. “They rub their fingers on the words. You've seen it, right?”

“It's called Braille.”

“Exactly. So you'll still be able to read.”

“Dean, _I can't read Braille_.”

Dean could tell when Castiel was getting stressed. Now was one of those times. Definitely. So he thought fast.

“You can learn it,” he said. “We can both learn it. Together. And… and we can train you so that you're ready. Like a superhero, or something.”

“Superheroes are special,” Castiel mumbled glumly, and Dean could hear him suck in a shuddering breath. “I'm not special. I'm just going to be disabled.”

Dean hated that word. He wasn't even sure why. The way Castiel said it about himself made it sound like something that was bad.

“Hawkeye is disabled in the comics,” he said instead. “He's deaf. And I think he's pretty cool.”

“Which one is he again?”

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “The one with the bow and arrow.” He added _The Avengers_ onto his list of things they would have to rewatch together before it was too late. “I'll help you train,” he promised. “And then, if you do… if you, y’know-”

“-When I go blind,” Castiel corrected him, sounding resigned. Defeated. Miserable.

“You'll be ready. More ready than you would have been otherwise.”

For a while, the phone line just crackled quietly on, leaving Dean hanging as he hoped to death that Castiel would agree to his plan. Not that he really had a plan. He just wanted Castiel to know that, okay, maybe he was the only one going through what he was going through, but he wasn't alone. Dean's mom often reminded him to make sure Castiel knew he was very much _far_ from alone.

“Will you still be my friend, even when it happens?” Castiel asked carefully, sounding as though he wasn't sure he even wanted an answer. It was a ridiculous question, though.

“I'll be your friend no matter what,” Dean swore. “You know that.”

“I wanted to make sure.”

He hung up shortly after. All Dean could think about was how ridiculous the question had been. Castiel losing his sight wouldn't stop Dean from being his best friend. Nothing would stop that.

That summer, the training began.

It was a serious matter, Dean decided then, almost as serious as watching all the best movies in the world was. And almost as serious as waking Castiel up at five o'clock in the morning so that he could race him to the park and watch the sunrise together. Sunrises and sunsets, Dean had decided, were also things that needed to be experienced before it was too late.

Learning Braille sucked. Dean was renowned for being an impatient guy, and it didn't help that Castiel was just so, well, _quick_. He got the hang of it as easy as anything - remembering what all the dots meant, which letters they stood for. He was able to close his eyes and read out whole words whilst Dean was still stuck trying to memorize the alphabet.

“Maybe we're lucky it's me that's going blind and not you,” Castiel joked one day during Dean's struggles. Dean hadn't been sure whether to laugh or not, but Castiel's smile had given him permission. It was the first time he had joked about what was happening. Oddly enough, that felt like progress.

Another branch of Castiel's training was much more serious.

Training him to know what being blind might _feel_ like. Dean had suggested it one day, Castiel had hesitantly agreed.

“Don't make me do anything stupid,” he whispered as Dean wrapped the scarf around his eyes carefully and knotted it messily at the back. It belonged to Dean's mom. Which probably explained why it was covered in pink and lilac flowers.

“Like I would ever,” Dean scoffed. He reached for Castiel's hand and gently squeezed. “I'm going to move back. And I'll call your name, just follow the sound of my voice.”

Castiel chewed his lip.

“If you get too confused, you can always take the scarf off,” Dean reminded him.

At that, Castiel shrugged. “I won't always have that option,” he whispered, and the words sat heavy in Dean's gut as he moved away, hardly going that far from Castiel.

They were in the park. Mostly the park consisted of fields. There was a small collection of swings and a slide on one side, and the beginnings of a wood scattered along the other. But mostly it was fields. The oak tree grew proud in the middle, anchoring the emptiness somehow.

“Cas!” Dean called out, watching as Castiel turned his head to the direction of his voice. “Cas!” he called again.

If they ever played this game at school - or any game that involved a scarf being wrapped around someone's head - then often they would laugh. It would be funny. But watching Castiel spread his arms out hesitantly for balance, watching him take the slowest and most careful steps known to man… well, it made Dean sad. All he could think was that, one day, this might be Castiel's reality.

He wished he'd never suggested this stupid game.

“Over here,” he called out again regardless as Castiel neared him. Dean reached out his arm, Castiel's hand hitting his before he scrambled to knot their fingers together, holding onto Dean like a life raft.

“Dean?”

“Yeah. Yes,” Dean smiled. “I got you.”

Castiel's stepped into his personal space before lifting up the scarf, his eyes bright blue and Dean wondered how something so beautiful could ever one day be so useless. He watched the other boy blink and squint, trying to get his eyes to focus properly again in the daylight. “I did it,” he smiled, his grip loosening on Dean’s hand before letting go.

“You did. Wasn't so bad, was it?”

“It was terrible. Your turn.”

Dean blinked. “What?” That hadn't been part of Dean's game.

Castiel shrugged, ripping the scarf off his head. “It’s only fair.”

Castiel was right, Dean supposed. It was only fair. It sucked that Dean had to be fair whilst nature, or god, or just the _universe_ was so ridiculously _un_ fair. Castiel didn't deserve to go blind. Then again. Who did?

Dean wasn't sure he was old enough to go around assigning illness to bad people. Although, his gut told him that maybe Hitler had been a bad enough person to deserve some kind of illness. Everyone always said stuff like that.

“Fine,” he sighed, reaching for the scarf and wrapping it around his head. Castiel's hands replaced his own, knotting the ends together far more efficiently than Dean ever could.

Castiel's hands moved to his shoulders then, squeezing gently. “Maybe we should spin you around to disorient you.”

“No. No way,” Dean huffed, thinking back to how hesitant Castiel had looked whilst doing this. Adding dizziness on top would be the worst thing ever. “Just do what I did to you.”

Dean could almost feel Castiel's reluctance as he obliged. And the second Castiel's hands slipped from his shoulders, Dean felt utterly alone. Maybe he was taking the game too seriously now that they knew what was to come. In the past, Dean had never felt so nervous with a scarf wrapped around his head, but now he felt the beginnings of panic flickering in the corners of his mind.

He heard his name. To the left. Maybe?

Spreading his arms out uselessly, Dean took one hesitant step into the darkness. And another. And another.

This was what Castiel would experience all the time one day. Maybe.

It felt like he was drowning.

“Dean!” Castiel called again. _Just follow the sound of his voice,_ Dean told himself.

He walked as confidently as possible, his heart hammering in his chest as he searched blindly for Castiel. Eventually, his hand caught something. Or someone. The fabric of Castiel's T-shirt.

“Hello,” he heard softly, and Dean smiled, using his hands to hold onto Castiel as he came to a stop.

“Hey,” he replied. “Can I take the scarf off now?”

He hated not being able to see Castiel's face.

“Keep it on. Just for a minute,” Castiel told him. Dean opened his mouth to argue, but then Castiel's hand slipped to his elbow, holding onto him. “Walk forwards and I will tell you where to go.”

Dean couldn't help but feel uneasy. He didn't move forwards. Beside him, Castiel laughed.

“You don't trust me?” Dean could hear the smile in his voice. Could picture it almost perfectly.

“I trust you,” he huffed.

“Then move forwards.”

And so, Dean did. He was hesitant, obviously, but he let Castiel's hand on his elbow keep him balanced as he felt out the soft grass beneath his feet. “Left,” Castiel murmured, and Dean head left. “Lift your foot up higher.” And Dean lifted his foot up higher. He stumbled a little. He could feel the roots beneath his feet and he smiled. He knew where they were. “Hold your hand out in front of you,” Castiel prompted, and Dean did as he was told, reaching out until his hand hit the rough bark of the tree. He'd expected it to be there. He could hear the gentle breeze disturbing the leaves above his head. Everything was grounding him, reminding him of where he was.

Well, everything apart from his sight.

“Can I take the scarf off now?” Dean asked quietly, and then he felt Castiel's hands behind his head, untying the garment gently. He blinked as he adjusted to the light. “Is that how you want me to guide you around?”

Castiel shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe I'll get a cane.”

“Or a dog.”

At that, Castiel smiled. “Or a dog,” he agreed. “A dog would be nice.”

Dean could picture Castiel with a dog. He just seemed like the type.

That summer, they fell into a routine together. They fit in as much time as possible for Dean to help Castiel ‘train’ as best as he could, whilst also taking him on the bus to visit every art gallery, museum, aquarium and zoo that they could reach on their own without the help of an adult. He never told Castiel why he insisted on taking him to so many places, but he knew Castiel knew the answer regardless. And if Castiel spent thirty whole minutes staring at the fish in the aquarium, then Dean didn't comment on it once and he sure as heck didn't complain. Sometimes it made him feel sad, though, when he noticed just how focused Castiel's gaze was on whatever he was looking at. It was like he was committing every tiny detail to memory.

Sometimes he looked at Dean like that, too.

The truth was, no one knew how long Castiel had left of decent sight. Castiel had explained that to him one day, and Dean had spent the whole night afterwards sat in the local library, using the giant computers there to try and research as much as he could about whatever it was that Castiel had. _Retinitis Pigmentosa_. Two long, confusing words. And all the websites Dean found on it were also filled with long and confusing words. He didn’t understand a single thing.

Tunnel vision, though. Castiel had explained that to him. He explained he'd have tunnel vision one day. And he explained that he couldn’t see in the dark anymore - that he’d _always_ struggled to see in the dark - and that sometimes he couldn’t see things in his peripheral vision. Dean had asked him what ‘peripheral’ meant and, again, Castiel had explained it patiently.

Most people didn’t lose their entire sight with Retinitis Pigmentosa, Dean had told him once. He’d understood that much during his research. Castiel hadn’t looked too satisfied, though.

He could lose most of his functioning sight in ten years. Or twenty. Or maybe tomorrow.

In the end, they were fourteen.

It didn't happen all at once. It wasn't as simple as that. It was a slow, degenerative, progression. Castiel had bad days, and he had good days. It was as though he was fighting with himself daily to retain as much of his sight as possible.

Fourteen, though. By fourteen he could hardly see at all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! this chapter is a lot longer than the last one, so I've decided to split it into two (choosing where the divide should be was kind of hard so I hope it works) originally this was all written in one go, basically as a one shot that was just an overlook of cas and dean's life in this au, but I thought it ended up just too long to have as one piece... anyways, I hope it's okay! :)

Watching Castiel experience the loss of his sight was one of the hardest things Dean had ever witnessed, and no amount of ‘training’ could have prepared either of them for it. He couldn't cope. And he was selfish for feeling that way, too, because Dean wasn't even the one going  _ through  _ the situation. And still it sometimes just felt like too much. 

In the days after Castiel was declared legally blind, Dean didn't see him at all. Castiel didn't go to school. He didn't phone. Apparently, he didn't even get out of bed. His legs were working fine of course, Dean's mom had explained one day, but it's not just his eyes that were hurting. It was his head. And mostly his heart. He didn't  _ want _ to get out of bed. 

It took a while before Dean was allowed to visit him. 

He paused in the doorway of Castiel's bedroom, his bag of stupid donuts in hand as he looked at his friend; the way he was blankly staring at a wall. Castiel hadn't heard Dean arrive, and of course, he hadn't seen him either. So Dean had knocked gently, clearing his throat. 

“Hey,” he whispered. Castiel said nothing. 

“I brought you donuts,” Dean tried again, moving across the room to sit carefully down on the edge of Castiel's bed. He held the bag out, brushing it against Castiel's hand, and Castiel clumsily held it. He turned his head away from Dean, but not quickly enough. Dean still saw the tears building in his eyes. “Cas,” Dean breathed. He wasn't sure why. 

Castiel let go of the donuts and pressed his fingers to his eyes, trying to swipe away the remnants of every last teardrop. “I can't help it,” he said shakily. “I know you hate it when people cry, but  _ I can't help it _ .” He sucked in a shuddery breath, his face reddening. “It's all they're good for these days.  _ Crying _ .” 

Dean swallowed, not knowing what to do. He wanted to ask Castiel when he'd get out of bed again, or when he'd go to school again. He wanted to say how much he'd missed him. Instead, he just reached forward and carefully guided Castiel's face back to look at him. With unseeing eyes, that were so devastatingly blue. 

“You're going to have to get out of bed someday,” he said softly, watching as Castiel's mouth twisted against a frown. “Please, Cas.” 

“Shut up,” Castiel mumbled, pushing Dean's hand away. Those were already the harshest words he'd ever heard from the other boy. “You have no idea, Dean. How terrifying it is. I can't walk anywhere because I don't know where I'm going, and someone always has to be there with me, and now - now, I have no idea where I am unless someone  _ tells _ me. I can't ever do anything on my own anymore.” 

“You don't have to do anything on your own,” Dean said quietly. “You've got me. I’d help you get everywhere and do everything - you know that.” 

Castiel didn't speak for some time, and when he did, Dean wished he hadn't. 

“I want you to leave,” Castiel said, his voice hard. Maybe even cold. “I don't want to hang out with you anymore.” 

“Cas, come on. You don't mean that.” 

“I mean it.  _ I mean it.  _ I can't do this - I can't sit here, with you, and know that I won't ever be able to see you again. Even though you're  _ right there _ . In front of me.”  

“You're making this harder than it has to be.” 

Dean instantly wished he could take the words back. Wished he would pull them from the air and swallow them whole. Then bury himself into the ground. 

He'd never seen Castiel look at him with more anger than in that moment. 

“Get out,” he ordered, voice definitely cold now. 

“Cas, I didn't mean th-”

“-I just want you to  _ leave _ . And if I could get out of bed then I would kick you out myself.”

Dean really didn't doubt that in the slightest. 

A part of him wished he hadn't visited Castiel at all. But Castiel was his best friend. He was always going to be his best friend, no matter what, and that was the part of the deal. 

In that moment, however, Dean realized they had become separate people, in a way they had never been before. Like a trunk, splitting in the middle. Castiel was one branch and Dean was the other. He couldn't understand what Castiel was going through, and Castiel wasn't about to let him. 

Their whole lives, they had been the same. They'd done everything together. They'd done their homework together, watched all the same films together, played together, hell, even slept in the same  _ bed  _ together. And now Dean was supposed to accept that he couldn't have any of that anymore?

_Hell_ _no_. 

School from then on was weird. 

First it was weird because there was no Cas, and then it was weird because there  _ was _ Cas. Except, Dean didn't sit next to him at class, or talk to him during recess, or eat with him at lunch. And Castiel was either guided places by teachers, or he had a cane with him, hesitantly moving through the school on his own. Dean watched him most days, his heart aching. 

Castiel's older brother walked him home, not Dean. And Dean now walked to his younger brother’s school to collect him and walk him home too, just so he could go a different route to Castiel and Gabriel. It saved his mom from driving to pick Sam up herself, Dean supposed. It was a thin silver lining. Most nights he still called Castiel’s home phone, but he never answered. The call either rang out, or was simply picked up by one of his brothers or his mom. His mom sounded the most sympathetic, usually offering up excuses on Castiel’s behalf - that he wasn’t feeling well, or he was busy, or he was asleep. Dean was young, but he wasn’t stupid. He could tell when he was being lied to. 

By the time they turned fifteen, Dean thought they might almost have adjusted to being apart. 

Maybe. 

He'd still sent Castiel a card on his birthday, along with a pair of earphones to listen to music on his phone with. He'd received nothing in return, but some days he'd see Castiel in the library, his earphones plugged into his laptop as he typed away without looking at his hands. Maybe his laptop was reading the words back. Dean hadn't thought about that. 

These days, Dean hung around with a different crowd. The ‘cool’ crowd, to be precise. He fit in there, just a little bit. He'd had to bury his nerdiness and get a better haircut - he'd gone for Han Solo's look from  _ The Empire Strikes Back - _ but now sometimes he  _ felt  _ cool, especially whenever he wore his dad's old leather jacket. The one he'd left behind. 

He was getting taller, too, and broader. Enough so that the jacket (whilst being still a little too big for him) fit well enough. 

“Remember when you used to hang around with that weird ass kid, Novak?” Gordon grinned one day, nodding over at Castiel who was running his fingers down his locker, trying to find the lock. 

Dean didn't like it when they picked on Cas. And of course, they  _ always  _ did. Castiel wasn't cool to begin with, he was quiet, he used to wear thick glasses and the pair of them used to be weird and nerdy together - and Castiel was still weird and nerdy, but now he was on his own,  _ and _ he was blind. It made him an easy target. 

“Weird, I guess,” was all Dean mumbled in return. He didn't want them to do anything stupid. Once they'd stuck a poster on Castiel's back - it had read ‘kick me’ on it - and Dean had ripped it off the second he'd seen it. Castiel had been aware of nothing more than people brushing past him in the hall. 

The pranks were harmless. The names they called him were harmless. And they never did it around Dean, if they ever did then he would tell them to just shut their damn mouths - because you could take the piss out of a guy for how they were dressed that day, sure, you'd still be an ass but you could do it; but you can't take the piss out of a guy for something he can't control. 

Although, Castiel did dress weirdly these days. Mostly because he probably struggled to pick out clothes that matched, and maybe he didn't always have time to change when his family told him he was wearing a terrible combination. Or maybe Castiel just didn't care. 

Either way, the pranking -  _ bullying?  _ \- was harmless. And Dean wasn't a participant. He was just a witness to it. And maybe, if Castiel hadn't pushed him away and blocked Dean from his life completely, maybe Dean would have been there all the time to make sure that people showed Castiel the respect he deserved, instead of pushing him in corridors so that he lost his balance, or tapping him on the shoulder to freak him out. 

Kids were cruel. It made Dean feel sick. 

The worst prank of all was when they were seventeen. 

It had been three years since Dean had last called Castiel his best friend so easily. They were definitely not best friends anymore. Castiel hung around with other kids,  _ better _ kids, like Kevin and Charlie. Ones that were also bullied for being a little bit different. 

Sometimes, Dean felt like he'd drawn the short straw. Whenever he saw Castiel with those other kids walking him home or making him laugh by his locker, he couldn't help the way his stomach would twist with jealousy. He felt sick with it. Those people didn't  _ know _ Castiel. They hadn't been his best friend since they were  _ six years old,  _ like Dean had been. Why the hell were they lucky enough for Castiel to want them in his life and not Dean? Why the hell had Castiel almost  _ punished  _ Dean for wanting to be there for him? 

Or maybe, the truth was, Dean had sucked at being a good friend anyway. And Castiel was better off without him. 

Seventeen, though. They were seventeen. Dean was walking home with his friends - the ones which made him feel like he  _ almost  _ belonged, but not quite - and up ahead was Castiel. On his own. 

It was rare for Castiel to walk home alone, and Dean slowed down as they neared him, feeling his stomach start to lurch with something akin to fear. Maybe even guilt. He watched numbly as Castiel swayed his cane from left to right, feeling out the path before him and he faltered as Gordon laughed, his laugh filled with something cruel. 

“Guys,” Dean began quietly, as Alastair reached out a foot to kick the cane away from the floor, sending it shooting from Castiel's hand. 

“Guys. Come on.” 

“We're only having a laugh, Winchester. Where's your sense of fun gone?” Alastair taunted.

"Give me back my cane.” Castiel's words were calm, and Dean admired his ability to hold it together. If Dean were in his position he'd probably have started screaming or crying. He remembered what Castiel had said that time - about how  _ terrifying _ walking could be. 

“Al, this isn't funny,” Dean tried again, frozen in spot. 

Alastair and Gordon merely laughed, the two of them pushing at Castiel's shoulders before they were jerking him around roughly, spinning him in circles. Dean felt the bile rise at the back of his throat.  _ Why the hell didn't Castiel fight back _ ?

“Alright, stop it now. Stop it. You've had your fun already,” Dean growled, the fear shifting into anger. They didn't listen. God.  _ They never listened _ . “Just get  _ off _ him!” Dean snapped, stepping in so that he could yank Gordon back by the scruff of his shirt, dragging him away from Castiel. “Just leave him alone -  _ why can't you just leave him alone _ ?” 

“Jesus,” Gordon huffed, smacking Dean's hands away. “The hell is your problem man? We're just having a laugh.” 

Dean didn't even think twice. He wasn't even sure he thought  _ once _ . All he knew was that one minute he was scoffing at Gordon's words, and the next, his fist was connecting with the side of the other boy's jaw. 

It felt good. God, it felt good. And on top of feeling good, Dean felt so completely  _ angry _ . Not just at Gordon, but at everything. He was angry at the world for making Castiel sick, and he was angry at Castiel for pushing him away, he was angry at himself for hanging out with such assholes, and he was angry at Gordon and Alastair for tormenting Castiel for as long as they had done. And for getting away with it. And Dean hadn't ever done anything to stop them.

So if Dean punched Gordon again, then it was only a side effect of all of those feelings. 

“ _ Jesus _ ,” Gordon hissed again, clutching his bleeding nose. Dean had felt the crunch of it against his knuckles. “You're a fucking psychopath.” 

“Just piss off. Go home and go fuck yourself,” Dean snapped, and within a second he felt his arms being pulled tight behind his back. He knew it was Alastair, and Alastair was stronger and taller than Dean was, so trying to pull his arms free was completely pointless. He was trapped there, left to the mercy of Gordon who was, of course, merciless. 

Dean received three punches to the face (enough to warrant a concussion, no doubt) and punch in the stomach, as well as a well-aimed kick between his legs, before Gordon decided he was done with him. When Alastair let go of Dean's arms, Dean buckled to the ground, lying there breathlessly for a moment as the world span around him. He heard a sharp crack over to the side of him, before he was aware of footsteps fading into the distance, running away.

Jesus  _ fuck _ . 

Dean stayed there on his hands and knees for some time, blinking to make his vision return to normal, his stomach aching and his groin almost numb with the pain. It was only when he heard Castiel behind him that Dean remembered what he had even been there for. 

“Hello?” 

Castiel's voice was hesitant and quiet. Barely even a whisper. Dean looked over his shoulder, up at the other boy, and finally it was easy to see how scared he was. He had his arms crossed over his chest and he looked on the verge of some kind of panic attack. Christ. 

“Is someone there?” Castiel tried again, and that almost broke Dean's heart.

He pushed himself off the ground, wiping his bloodied nose on the back of his hand. In front of him, Castiel flinched. “It's just me,” Dean said softly, the back of his throat closing up. “It's Dean.” And Dean was probably the last person Castiel wanted to be with just then. But Dean wasn't sure he could handle the rejection for a second time in his life. 

Across from him, Castiel’s face hardened. “I just need my cane. Then you can point me in the right direction and I'll head home.”

And there it was. The rejection. The not-so-subtle  _ ‘I don't want to be around you _ ’ statement. 

Dean wondered (as he often did) what it was that he'd done wrong. 

He swallowed, looking over at the ground where he'd last seen Castiel's cane. And it was only then that he realized it was in two parts. Snapped, clean in the middle. 

“Cas…” 

“My cane, Dean. That's all I need.” 

“It's broken. I'm sorry.”

Dean watched as Castiel pressed his lips together, turning his face away. 

“I can walk you home,” Dean suggested quietly. It didn't seem to provide any comfort to the other boy. 

“I don't need you to,” he insisted. Which was stupid. Maybe he could walk home on his own usually, but only with a cane to guide the way. There were - there were  _ roads _ , and the ground wasn't even, he could trip and fall as easy as anything. 

“Cas,” he started, voice hesitant. What the hell had he done to deserve this? All he'd ever wanted was to help. He'd tried his hardest. He'd just taken a stupid  _ beating  _ to keep Castiel safe. All he'd ever tried to do was make sure Castiel was okay, and that he was happy. “Let me walk you home,” he mumbled. “After that, I'll stay out of your way. I swear.”

“And your friends?” 

He had venom in his voice. Dean swallowed. 

“They're not my friends,” he decided. “They're just - I didn't have anybody else.” 

This time, it was Castiel's turn to look guilty. Just briefly. His eyeline didn't quite match up with Dean's as he looked at him again, face now mildly determined. He held out his elbow, and Dean remembered everything. Their ‘training’. Only, this time, Castiel couldn't just pull the scarf off of his head. 

He gathered up the broken parts of the cane, zipping them up into his backpack before he straightened up and ran a hand through his hair. Carefully, he turned Castiel to the side until he was facing the right direction, and only then did he start to guide him down the street, unused to walking alongside him. He was half a step slower than Dean, but faster than Dean had expected. 

They were silent for some time, heavy awkwardness between them. A tension that had never been there before, and Dean wasn't used to it. He hated it.  

Eventually, however, Castiel spoke. 

“What happened back there?” he asked, his face straight ahead as Dean started to slow down, nearing a road. Instinctively, Castiel slowed down beside him, reaching for the traffic light button to his side. 

“It was just… Gordon and Alastair. Being dicks as usual.” 

Dean kept one eye on the road as he talked, silently studying Castiel's side profile. They were both older now, of course, but Dean hadn't seen Castiel this close in years. He'd lost his chubby cheeks, developed some sharp cheekbones instead, and his hair was even messier now than it had been before. Dean supposed it might be hard to fix your hair if you couldn't see it to begin with. 

Mostly, Dean was just taking in how handsome Castiel had become. He knew the girls at school all thought it, knew that sometimes they stared. He wondered if anyone had ever thought to tell Castiel that? That he was one of the best looking guys in the year, but he couldn't even see it for himself.

Dean wasn't even sure why it felt important that Castiel should know something as shallow as that - looks were probably the last thing he cared about these days. 

“Are you still there?”

Dean blinked, realizing he'd not listened to a word of what Castiel had said. 

“Yeah. Yeah, course I am.” He looked at the road. “We should cross now, though.”

Dean couldn't even  _ imagine  _ crossing a road without being able to see the traffic beforehand. It would be like abseiling, or something. You might know nothing is coming and that you were safe, but you would still have to jump over the edge and hope for the best. The jump was always the hardest part.

“I asked why they left,” Castiel continued beside him, and Dean swallowed. He was sure Castiel could piece events together for himself, but maybe he just wanted to hear it from Dean. To reaffirm that he was right. “They punched you, didn't they?” 

Dean shrugged, although, Castiel couldn't see that. “A little,” he admitted. “But I’m alright.”

“Is your face alright?” 

Dean laughed shortly, not really feeling the humor. “It'll be fine. No worse than usual.” 

Castiel said nothing. They continued their walk, passing the turning to Dean's street and heading further, to where Castiel lived. Dean hadn't walked this way for years; not since he had been to visit Castiel for the last time. It made his heart ache as he recognized everywhere the two of them used to go, places they used to play.  

“Is it true you have long hair now?” Castiel asked suddenly. “Gabriel said you did.” 

Jesus, did they talk about him back at the Novak house? Talk about the ghost of Dean Winchester, that kid who used to practically live with them once? Who used to go over for dinner every other night, and used to love Mrs Novak's homemade pie  _ almost  _ as much as he loved his mom's? It made Dean feel a little ill.

“It's not  _ that  _ long,” he said wearily. “Just longer.” 

Castiel hummed. “I can't picture you with long hair,” he murmured, and immediately Dean wanted to shave it all off. He wanted Castiel to know that he looked the same. The only difference was his height, nothing else. He was still Dean. 

“Just think of Han Solo,” he said instead.

Castiel squinted with thought. Something he'd always done when he was younger. Something Dean was glad he hadn't grown out of yet. “I can't remember what Han Solo looks like,” he admitted quietly, sounding hesitant, almost disappointed in himself.

Dean had no idea what to say to that. They had spent all that time watching films together so that Castiel could experience them properly, but Dean had never thought that maybe Castiel would simply forget it all within a few years. He wondered what else Castiel couldn't remember. Did he even remember Dean right? Did he remember what all his brothers looked like? 

That would be shit, Dean decided then. He couldn't imagine not knowing what Sam looked like. It would tear him up with frustration. 

“Do you still love Han Solo?” Castiel continued quietly, and Dean really did laugh then.

“How could I not?” he chuckled, shaking his head. “He's only the coolest fictional character known to man.”

Castiel shrugged. “And Lisa Braeden?” he asked carefully. “You love her too?”

Dean blinked at that question. It felt completely out of the blue, but it sounded like it was something Castiel had thought about for some time. Something he'd wanted to bring up for a while. 

“I don't love Lisa Braeden,” Dean said easily. They weren't even dating - Jesus, Dean  _ wished _ . He wondered who had told Castiel that Dean liked Lisa, anyway. He wondered if Castiel had asked about Dean, or if someone just talked about him like gossip. “She's just - just hot. That's all. You're telling me you'd turn her down if she asked you out?”

Castiel shrugged. “I'm not interested in girls,” he mumbled simply, and Dean couldn't understand that. He couldn't understand how someone could look at a girl and  _ not  _ want to kiss them. 

Then again, Castiel had a disadvantage, Dean supposed. He couldn't see girls. So maybe that was why he didn't care about dating one. 

Again, that sucked.

As they neared Castiel's house, Dean felt his stomach start to sink. The closer they got, the sooner Dean would have to say his goodbyes, and that would be that. They would go their separate ways again, and Dean would watch from across the cafeteria as Castiel sat with his new friends, not needing Dean in his life anymore. 

His house looked the same as it always did, the rhododendron lining the front yard, the same as it had done three years before. The porch was the same. The cars out front were the same. Nothing had changed, yet everything was different. 

Dean guided Castiel to the front porch and watched as he fished out his keys from his back pocket, feeling each individual one until he found the front door key. 

“Thank you for walking me home,” he said, once he'd unlocked the door.

“Don't mention it.” Dean didn't want to be thanked. If it hadn't been for him and his stupid ‘friends’ then Castiel would never have needed help walking home in the first place.

“Cas?” he said before he could stop himself, and Castiel paused in stepping indoors. He turned to face Dean, again, his eyeline not quite right. “I'm…” he began, his throat closing up again. He cleared it. “I dunno. I'm proud of you, man. For adapting.”

He thought back to Castiel three years ago, the boy who had refused to get out of bed because he'd been too scared to walk without his sight. And here was Castiel now, able to walk himself home if he had to. Able to cross roads without seeing the cars around him. He was so much stronger than he had given himself credit for, and he was so much stronger than Dean could ever have been. 

“I didn't have much of a choice,” Castiel mumbled, shrugging. 

“Doesn't matter. You still did it. I'm happy for you.”

Castiel looked down, and Dean saw the way his cheeks reddened ever so slightly. “I'm sorry I stopped talking to you,” he whispered eventually, and Dean felt his eyes sting instantly. He wasn't sure he wanted to talk about this. 

“It's okay.” It wasn't okay. It hurt so bad.

“I just didn't know what else to do,” Castiel continued, his voice still barely audible. “I was worried you didn't want to be my friend, no matter what you said. And... it was easier to tell you to go than for you to leave of your own accord. I couldn't have coped with that. But I'm sorry. You didn't deserve to be treated like that.” 

“Cas. Please don't be sorry.” Dean swallowed, fidgeting where he was stood. He got the feeling this was something Castiel had wanted to say for a while. “You were going through something huge. I wasn't what you needed then.”

Castiel laughed hollowly at that, reaching up to run a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes. “Don't think I ever stopped needing you,” he admitted weakly, managing an embarrassed smile - one that was almost a grimace. 

Dean smiled at that, hesitant relief washing over him. It was like letting air out of a tyre - the tension, the fear, the anxiety, all slowly began to free itself from him. He reached forward, his hand finding Castiel's shoulder, and at first, Castiel tensed, but then he leaned into it. And he leaned against Dean as Dean drew him closer, hand moving to the back of his neck and pulling him into a tight hug. It reminded Dean of when they were nine, and Dean hadn't thought twice about hugging Castiel then. He’d hardly thought twice about hugging him now, either. 

As Castiel hugged him back, Dean felt like they were both finally starting to heal. He felt like this was the beginning to the end of some greater pain they had put each other through. And, whilst they'd lost three years of friendship, they had years left to make up for that time apart.

The transition in school from hanging out with Alastair and his crowd to hanging out with Castiel again was tough, Dean wasn't going to deny that fact. It was beyond worth it, though. For one thing, Dean's mom nearly cried when Castiel went over for dinner again for the first time in three years. Dean had grinned at the way she had hugged the other boy ridiculously tightly, and Castiel had looked beyond awkward as he had hugged her back. Dean shouldn't have found it so funny, though, because he got the exact same treatment when he stayed the night at Castiel's for the first time since everything had changed. 

“I always told him to talk to you,” Castiel's mom had whispered, looking close to tears herself. “He's just so stubborn. But I'm so glad you're here, I'm just so glad.” Her hands were on Dean's face, and she'd kissed Dean's forehead over and over, every touch laced with gratitude that Dean didn't think he deserved. “You're good for him. The best friend he's ever had.” 

Dean wished he could believe that. 

How could he be the best friend Castiel's ever had? Meeting all of Castiel's new friends made him feel woefully inadequate. They all understood tiny things that Dean didn't - and he knew, logically, it was because he had been out of the loop for three years, but it still hurt. He still felt needlessly jealous whenever Charlie read out the lunch menu to Castiel before Dean could. And he felt jealous whenever Kevin remembered to tell Castiel which corridor they were turning into before Dean did. 

But Charlie and Kevin. Dean was jealous of them, naturally, but he didn't hate them. They were impossible to hate. They brought out a part of Dean that he had spent years burying away, the part of him that could talk for hours about  _ Star Wars _ or  _ Lord of the Rings,  _ or other useless nerdy things he'd adored growing up. Sometimes, he'd find himself in a heated discussion about whether Thor was better or Iron Man, and he'd see Castiel smile to himself, almost fondly. As though both of them were remembering who they once had been. 

“I always thought you were a total ass,” Charlie admitted one day before lunch. 

The two of them were heading out of their English class, and Dean was carrying half of Charlie's belongings for her because she'd recently sprained her wrist by falling out of bed and Dean insisted on her not holding too many books in case she damaged herself further. 

Still, the statement was out of the blue. Dean tried to think back to if he had ever been rude to Charlie before, or even if he had been a witness to Gordon and Alastair being assholes to her, but he couldn't think of anything. 

“How come?” he asked, although, he already suspected he knew the answer. Anyone who called Gordon and Alastair their friends had to be some kind of a douchebag. 

These days, Dean had cut his hair short again and he'd told Castiel immediately. Things were getting better. They were getting better.

The leather jacket, though? Dean was holding onto that one. He liked the way it fit.

“Just because of Cas and everything,” Charlie said then. “I thought you'd ditched him because, you know.” She shrugged, looking distracted. “I just thought you'd been a shitty friend to him.” 

“Doesn't sound like me,” Dean smirked, only half-joking. He could be a shitty friend, he knew that. But he'd never planned on ditching Cas because he'd lost his sight - that, in Dean's opinion, made no sense. “He didn't want me around. Not the other way round,” Dean explained quietly.  

Charlie hummed, frowning a little. “I just don't understand that.” 

“Understand what?”

“Why he'd push you away like that.” 

Dean shrugged. “People do crazy things when they're sad,” he mumbled. He didn't think much of it. Castiel's reasoning had made sense to Dean - he'd been too scared that Dean would ditch him, so he'd taken control of the situation the only way he'd known how to. By ditching Dean first. It hurt, and it sucked, but Dean didn't blame him. Not in the slightest.

Charlie, though. Charlie looked unsatisfied. 

“He'd sometimes talk about you,” she added quietly. “But it was weird. One of those things where nobody could bring you up apart from him, and even then, it was just random questions, like… whether you aced the class test, or, y’know… if you'd finally cut your damn hair.”

Dean smiled. “He's weird,” was all he could think to say. It seemed like the best explanation Dean could provide. 

That summer, Dean spent as much time around Castiel as possible. It was the year before their _final_ _summer ever_. Or what _felt_ like the final summer ever. In a year's time, college would be rearing its ugly head, and Dean kept breaking out into hot sweats whenever he thought about moving away from home, planning a future and a career, and studying at a _college_ and getting _student debt._ None of it sounded good. And he'd spend half his time worrying about Castiel, and where Cas might go to college or what he might do, and _\- would the people at college treat him right?_

Jesus. It kept Dean awake most nights. 

Castiel had told him once that he wanted to be a writer. Dean hadn't even hesitated before telling him to go for it. Castiel was smart enough to do anything he wanted, and nothing (absolutely  _ nothing _ ) was going to hold him back. Dean wouldn't let it.  

They spent that summer scrambling college applications together, with the help of Charlie and Kevin (who were both crazy smart, too - another way in which Dean felt inadequate) and sometimes even Castiel's older brothers if they were in the house at the same time. 

Castiel's bedroom was on the ground floor now, where the study used to be. He'd explained it was because he struggled with stairs still. He was a confident walker in most regards (had even attempted running for fun once or twice) but stairs still asked too much of him sometimes. Apparently he'd always fall on the way down. He'd shown Dean a scar running down his side, his fingers feeling out the risen skin as he'd pointed to where it stretched across his ribcage. It looked painful and it had made Dean's heart ache, but he’d tried not to let Castiel know that. 

It was the best summer of his life, Dean decided one day. He had his friend back for one thing. They would lie in the park fields together, letting the sun wash over them as Dean read out chapters of books to Castiel, his fingers occasionally running through the other boys hair whenever he was within reach. A bad habit. Castiel seemed to like it, though. 

It also became apparent that neither of them had grown up. Not really. They both still loved sleepovers, and whilst they didn't watch films anymore, they would instead just listen to music and talk for hours on end, finding out all the things that had changed between the two of them over the years, and all the things that had stayed the same. They would lie in bed, side by side, and just talk the nights away. In those moments, nothing else mattered. It was like the rest of the world just faded away. And lying in the dark with Castiel felt as though they were on an equal level again - Castiel couldn't see, but neither could Dean. He could barely make out the outline of the other boy's face, and so they would lie there, almost equally as blind, but equally as content. Making up for lost time. 

When Christmas came around, Dean bought Castiel more presents than ever before, with all the money he had saved up from washing cars around the neighborhood. He bought Castiel a walkman and made him mixtape,  _ and  _ got him a tape of  _ The Lord of the Rings  _ so that he could listen to the books on the go. Walkmans were outdated, mixtapes even more so, but Dean had wanted to piece together all the songs that reminded him of Castiel and all the songs he thought Castiel might like, and he'd wanted Castiel to be able to hold them as a tangible gift. Castiel had loved it, of course. But it paled in comparison to his gift for Dean. 

They opened their gifts for each other on Christmas Eve, the same way they used to when they were younger. Dean would walk to Castiel's in the morning, and they would have hot chocolate and unwrap their presents a day early before heading off to their family commitments for the day. Dean's chest hurt when he thought about the past few Christmases and how he had been deprived of a tradition as good as this. 

His present, however, made up for it all. 

“Great wrapping skills,” Dean murmured with a tiny smile, the two of them on Castiel's bed. He'd opened his presents, and Dean had explained what everything was. Now he was chewing his lip, waiting for Dean to open his own in return. 

“I can't tell,” Castiel shrugged. “My mom did it. And she helped with the gift. So if it's all awful then it's not entirely my fault.” 

Dean laughed, looking over the wrapping paper with cartoon penguins and reindeer scattered across it before he was ripping it open carefully. Beneath the paper lay a smart-looking, leather bound book. It was heavy in Dean's hands. 

“Cas, what…?” he began, before he opened it up and felt the words catch in his chest. The first page was filled with pictures of them, looking so small and happy, their six year old selves grinning at the camera as they grabbed onto each other tightly. It was insane to think about what they had once looked like, how young they had once been. “Cas, what is this?” he breathed, flicking through the pages slowly. Reverently. 

“It's a photo album,” Castiel explained, reaching out carefully until his hand found the book. He ran his fingers across the leather, and then the plastic cases which stored each photo. “My mom did most of it, obviously. It was just my idea.” He shrugged a little, looking slightly embarrassed. “These pictures are useless to me now. But I thought you might… I don't know. I thought maybe you would like them all. Your mom supplied a few as well. I got as many as I could.” 

Dean grinned, breezing through the first few pages until he reached the two of them when they were slightly older. Ten years old, by the looks of it. At a baseball game. Dean had his arm around Cas, who had a giant foam finger on his hand, and again, the pair of them looked just  _ filled  _ with childhood joy. 

“Cas, this is awesome,” he whispered, trying not to feel sad. Sad because Castiel had gone to the effort of collecting as many pictures of them as possible, but he couldn't see any of them himself. “Thank you. I love it.”  

He wasn't even lying. It wasn't one of those gifts which Dean smiled about on the day but secretly didn't care for all that much, no; this was something that Dean was going to treasure forever, no matter what happened. It was a condensed book of his and Castiel's lives up until the age of fourteen. Maybe he could add in a few more now that they were talking again. Castiel was pretty damn picture worthy, after all. 

“How do we look in them?” Castiel asked quietly, leaning against Dean, his chin finding Dean's shoulder the same way it always did. 

Dean smiled, shrugging a little. Castiel could no doubt feel the movement. “I dunno. Happy, I guess.” 

It was an understatement, to say the least. 

Dean didn't manage to get another photo for his album until that January, when the snow was almost knee deep from a freak blizzard. They had waded outside, the four of them - Charlie, Kevin, Castiel and Dean - until they'd reached the park. Dean had both his hands on Castiel's elbows, guiding him from behind. Up ahead, Charlie was gathering snow in her hands, preparing to stuff it down the back of Kevin's neck. Cruel was her middle name, after all. 

“Do you remember making snow angels?”

Dean blinked, frowning a little. “What are you talking about?” 

Castiel came to a stop, Dean bumping into him. His eyes were screwed up, gaze fixed on the spot to the side of Dean's face. “We made snow angels once when it snowed this much before.”

Dean thought he might remember. Just vaguely. “Cool,” he smiled. “Wanna make some now?” 

There wasn't even a moment's hesitation before Castiel was nodding. He took a step back, before he lowered himself down onto the ground, sinking into the snow a good inch or so before he spread out. Dean laughed as he watched Castiel swiping at the snow with his arms and legs, leaving an indent as he did so. The wings formed perfectly and actually, as Dean watched, he realised that he  _ could _ remember this. He wasn't sure how he'd ever forgotten. They'd been eight. They'd played in the snow for hours and hours, using pieces of cardboard covered in plastic bags as makeshift sledges for the hills, and they'd made half a dozen snow angels each until their fingers and toes had grown numb and they’d had to retreat inside for some hot chocolate. 

“Did it work?” Castiel asked from the ground a few minutes later, grinning to himself as his arms slowed to a stop.

Of course it had worked. It had worked  _ perfectly. _

Dean pulled out his phone. “It looks awesome, buddy,” he promised. “Hold still.” 

And that was the picture he printed off and put in his album. Castiel, in the snow, his wings spread out around him and his bobble hat tugged down nearly all the way to his eyes. He was adorable, and he had no idea about it either. He couldn't even see the snow angel, but he'd made one anyways. And he didn't even seem to mind that he couldn't see his own creation - it was the making of the angel that was the fun part, after all.

As Dean held out a hand to pull Castiel up back onto his feet, the other boy tugged him down without warning. Dean slipped forwards, his knees buckling in as he landed in the snow, scissoring Castiel's legs. 

“The hell was that for?” Dean gasped, ice cold snow seeping into his skin through his jeans. “I could've crushed you, man.” Beneath him, Castiel just laughed, his eyes closed. They were so close that their noses were almost touching, Castiel's breath warm against Dean's cheeks. He didn't even notice when the other boy reached for a handful of snow and - before Dean could fully comprehend what was going on - Castiel smashed the snow straight into Dean's nose and mouth. 

“Fucking  _ hell _ , Cas,” Dean snorted against the other boy's gloves, his face now numb. “You're evil. You're  _ evil _ .” He scrambled off of Castiel, rubbing at his face with his scarf as he found himself laughing regardless. They were still laughing even as Kevin and Charlie found them again, both covered in snow from their own snowball fight, and the four of them walked home with their arms linked at the elbows, their heads tilted back to catch as many snowflakes on their tongue as possible. It was silly and ridiculous, but Dean didn't care in the slightest. He could be silly and ridiculous with these people. It was who they were. 

That night, after they'd warmed their bodies up with copious amounts of hot chocolate, the two of them curled up in Castiel's single bed together. Maybe they were too big to still do stuff like that, but Dean didn't comment on it and he didn't want to stop either. It was one of the few things of theirs that they could still do, and could always do forever. 

“Your snow angel was pretty impressive today,” Dean whispered under his breath, and next to him Castiel let out a soft breath of amusement. “I wish you could've seen it.”

It was a risky thing to say, Dean thought. He didn't want to upset Castiel, but it had been on his mind since… since forever. Since Castiel had given him a photo album full of pictures of them because they were worthless to him now but meant the world to Dean. And they  _ should  _ have been able to mean the world to Castiel, too. He wanted to talk about it. Properly.

Next to him, though, Castiel merely shrugged. He rolled onto his side to face Dean, his eyes closed, probably because he was tired more than anything else. “There are more important things I wish I could see,” he said finally, his eyes still closed. In the darkness, it was hard to tell what his expression was, but his voice sounded sad, and Dean already wished he'd said nothing at all. “It's weird, though,” Castiel continued quietly. “Everyday I get more used to this. It's becoming my normal, I suppose.” 

“That's a good thing, isn't it?” Dean murmured. 

Again, Castiel shrugged. “Maybe. I'm still angry, and just  _ bitter _ some of the time. But this is my life now, and it wasn't until I realized that, that I actually started doing okay. Feeling okay.” He smiled a little. “Besides, there's more ways of experiencing the world than just seeing it.”

“Yeah.” Dean nodded. Hopefully Castiel felt the movement against the pillow. “There's, like, your hearing and stuff.” 

“And touch,” Castiel added. He pressed his lips together for a moment before sighing. “Sometimes it can be exhausting, not being able to see, and having to rely on other people for basic information. And it can be lonely, too. I feel like… like I'm just floating in a black hole sometimes, but then someone will take my arm and I know that I'm not on my own.” 

Dean figured he got that. Like being anchored to something. Being blind must feel like stumbling in the dark, but on a permanent level, and having a hand to hold would make all the difference. You'd feel safer somehow. 

“Yeah,” Dean said softly. “I mean, you've got me.”

He nudged Castiel's foot with his beneath the covers, and watched as Castiel smiled slowly. For some reason, Dean felt the overwhelming urge to kiss him, then. Or something stupid like that. Maybe just to nudge their noses together, just to make sure Castiel knew that he was there and that he was never going to leave him. He'd stay forever, if it was what Castiel wanted.

Instead, Dean pushed down the weird instinct (it made his stomach feel queasy) and he wrapped his arm around Castiel's middle, pulling him closer until the two of them were pressed, chest to chest. 

Castiel didn't resist the movement, either, if anything he burrowed closer against Dean, their legs tangling as Castiel tucked his face into the crook of Dean's neck. Maybe he felt better like this. Maybe he couldn't see Dean, but maybe that didn't matter. Dean could feel the warmth of the other boy against him, could feel his heartbeat through their shirts, and it was the perfect reminder that he was there, the two of them tangled together in the darkness. 

Maybe Castiel felt the same way. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! if you enjoyed it please leave a kudos or a comment to let me know how I'm doing! any feedback would be appreciated to help me improve <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god i've had this chapter written for ages, but I've never been satisfied with it enough to post (I'm still pretty dissatisfied) anyways, I just thought, fuck it, i'll post it. this wasn't ever supposed to be such a long fic to begin with, i literally only planned on it being a one shot, yet here we are lol. but anyways, I hope you enjoy it! and thanks to everyone who's commented so far, honestly you're all the best! <3 <3 <3

They were eighteen years old, and the end of school was fast approaching - and with it, some fundamental events were on the horizon. Prom, for example. Finals. Graduation. Summer. And everything else that was in between.   


 

As they left school on their final day, the four of them piling into Dean’s Impala - Charlie, Cas, Kevin and himself - Dean couldn’t help but smile to himself. School had been a whirlwind, to say the least. When he was younger, he’d always envisioned walking out of school on the last day with Castiel by his side, but he’d never anticipated two extra friends either side of them. Friends that he cared about just as much. The four of them were more than friends, Dean decided as they walked through town to the nearest Taco Bell for after-school celebrations. They were family. And, sometimes, Dean found himself wondering if he and Castiel would have befriended them had Cas never become ill, or if maybe they would have just stuck to only knowing each other throughout all of their school life. 

 

In a way, tragedy had brought them all together, and Dean was grateful for it.

 

Charlie was awesome. They had all the same tastes in film and TV, as well as books and videogames. Sometimes she would visit Dean and the two of them would spend the entire night playing  Fortnite  together over a bag of popcorn and Doritos. And, even better, she was ridiculously gay - Dean figured she made up for Castiel's disinterest in the lady department, because Charlie  definitely  had some opinions on which girl Dean should ask to go to prom with him.

 

And Kevin was cool, too. A little more reserved. A little more stressed out about school. But he was a straight A kind of kid, and Dean was already wildly indebted to him. The amount of times the two of them had stayed at the school library until it closed was almost embarrassing - and all because Dean didn't understand a single thing about Chemistry and Kevin was desperate for him to not fail the class.

 

They were good friends. Supportive and kind. Dean didn't quite think he deserved them. 

 

It was all he could think about, as they ate in Taco Bell that night. He didn’t deserve them. Didn’t deserve this. 

 

They made their promises to hang out as much as possible during the summer (and for every summer after that) as they lay in the living room together until the early hours of the morning, just talking, listening to music, being with each other. The entire floor was covered with mattresses and blankets, and the four of them had all found a spot to sleep beside each other in the oversized, makeshift floor-bed. Dean would miss this, he thought as he lay squished between Charlie and Castiel. He would miss them. Going to different colleges sucked ass.

 

Dean knew he'd done okay in all his subjects. Enough to get into the University of Kansas on a sports scholarship, for sure. It was the only place he had even considered going. He wanted to be somewhere close enough that he could still see his brother everyday if he wanted, and he could still go home for dinner every Sunday and see his mom.

 

Castiel was going there, too. But only because his mom had stressed about the idea of him travelling far on his own to get home and back.

 

Dean knew it sucked that they were going for such different reasons, but he was glad anyway, because it meant he'd still be with Castiel somehow. The idea of the two of them winding up in completely different places made Dean feel a little sick, just like it did every time he thought about how far away Kevin and Charlie would be. It felt like the beginning of the end of everything that was familiar to Dean, and by the time prom came around, a part of him felt as though he had to start to appreciating everyone and everything in his life completely, whilst he still had the time to. 

 

“What color is this?” Castiel asked from across the room.

 

Dean was lying on the other boy's bed, a book in his hands as he skimmed through the contents. It was Ernest Hemingway, so Dean was only half interested. “Hm.” He looked over. Castiel was holding up a tie, running his fingers across it carefully. “Blue.”

 

“Will it go with my suit?”

 

He was standing in front of his wardrobe wearing nothing but his suit pants and an unbuttoned white shirt, and Dean was trying not to look at the fact that his bare chest and stomach was on show for the world to see. Castiel, apparently, didn't care much about nudity these days. Or ever, actually, if Dean thought about it.

 

Dean closed the book. “It'll go with your suit,” he assured him, before pressing his lips together. He knew what was really bothering the other boy. “Quit stressing, man.”

 

“I just wanted to be sure.”

 

“I mean about all of this - not just the tie.”

 

Castiel swallowed and fumbled for the next tie from his wardrobe. “I'm not stressing. I'm fine. Is this one blue, too?”  

 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, it's blue.” He got up, moved over to Castiel, and sighed quietly. “What is it that's freaking you out?” he asked, reaching forward as he fixed Castiel's collar and started to help him button up his shirt, which he had been doing so clumsily by himself.

 

Castiel didn't meet his eyes, even more so than usual. “I'm not freaking out.”

 

“Somehow, I don't believe you,” Dean smiled. “Is it the after party? Because I know I badgered you about it, but you really don't have to come if you don't want to. We can just go to prom, have fun there, and that'll be it. Done and dusted.  We won’t have to see any of those other dicks from school ever again.”

 

Castiel pressed his lips together, pushing Dean's hands away impatiently as he finished buttoning his own shirt. Dean let his hands fall uselessly to his side. “I'm going to the after party,” his friend said stubbornly. “Everyone else is going. Why wouldn't I?”

 

“Because you hate parties,” Dean pointed out. “And you've never had alcohol before.”

 

Castiel rolled his eyes, but Dean didn't miss the way his cheeks flushed.

 

“Listen, okay. You don't have to go if you don't want to,” Dean repeated, hesitantly reaching for the tie in Castiel's hands. He ran it through his own fingers before winding it around Castiel's neck gently. “But if you wanna go, then you don't need to stress about it, buddy. I'm not planning on getting drunk outta my mind or anything, so I'm gonna be there with you the whole time. And it's only at  Benny's.  Benny's a great guy, so don't worry. Nobody will be setting anything on fire or doing anything completely dumb and crazy stupid.”

 

Castiel didn't look entirely convinced, but he still nodded, running a hand through his hair as he let Dean knot his tie carefully. He tightened it up to Castiel's neck, fixing the collar and smoothing out the creases on his shoulders.

 

“Suits you,” Dean smiled, nudging Castiel's cheek briefly. “Blue brings out your eyes.”

 

Castiel just shrugged at that, not looking particularly impressed.

 

“You know, maybe tonight will be the night you finally get laid,” he teased after a pause, moving to fix Castiel's cufflinks for him, winding the sleeves back and pinning them down.

 

“I'm not gonna get laid,” Castiel mumbled, his face all the way red now.

 

“Don't worry, I'll tell you if she's pretty enough,” Dean continued with a tiny smirk.

 

“Dean, it's not happening.”

 

“Alright. First kiss, maybe?”

 

Castiel's frown deepened. “You're ridiculous.”

 

“ You're  ridiculous,” Dean sniggered. “And one of the best looking guys in the school. You could've gotten a prom date easy as anything if you'd tried.”

 

“I  have  a prom date.”

 

“Charlie doesn't count.”

 

Castiel clenched his jaw. “Can you drop it?” he said a little harshly, sounding serious about it. And Dean understood when it was time for him to shut his big mouth, so he did. He followed Castiel over to the bed, fixing his own suit as he did so. Neither of them said anything for a long time.

 

It was Castiel who broke the silence. “Does my hair look okay?” he asked.

 

Dean gave him a once over. “Looks great. You look great. Just don't sweat it.”

 

Their prom was being held a week after graduation, making it the very last time Dean would probably see the vast majority of his peers. He wasn't too fussed about it - he’d still see all the people he cared about after. And, in the end, he'd got his date easy enough (he'd finally had the balls to ask out Lisa Braeden) and he'd been going with the flow ever since.

 

Going with the flow meant doing everything Lisa said. He had to make sure his suit coordinated with her dress, apparently, so he was wearing a maroon tie even though he wasn't convinced that red was his color, and he also was supposed to leave to go to her house before prom for a photoshoot. Her parents were crazy rich - Dean's mom had laughed with disbelief when he'd told her. Who the hell had money for a personal  photographer ?

 

Before leaving for Lisa's, however, Dean and Castiel still got badgered into some photos of their own by Castiel's mom, who was snapping away at her camera, looking a bizarre mixture of close-to-tears and unbelievably happy.

 

“The two of you look so handsome,” she commented as Dean wound his arm around Castiel's shoulders, smiling as the flash went off again. “Gosh, Castiel. Your father would be so proud.”

 

Whenever it got to Castiel's father, his mom always got a little too emotional. So Dean took it as his cue to leave.

 

“I'll see you there,” he said as he hugged Castiel on the front doorstep. He thumped him on the back gently.

 

“Not if I see you first,” Castiel joked with a hesitant smile as they pulled apart, and Dean quickly found himself being pulled into a tight hug from Mrs Novak, her arms all but squeezing the life out of him.

 

“You'll keep an eye on him tonight, won't you?” she whispered, holding Dean at arm's length and fixing his hair in a way which Dean would have to fix himself the moment he was gone.

 

“Of course,” he smiled. “Not gonna leave his side.”

 

And with that promise, Dean was gone.

 

He drove to Lisa's in his dad's old Impala - his mom said that the car had been left for Dean to inherit anyway, so he was finally grateful for at least one thing his dad had ever done for him before he'd skipped town with another woman. The car was pretty perfect, too. Ran smooth across the roads, the engine  purring  beneath Dean's feet, and it was also the kind of car that Lisa Braeden would love to have feature in the back of her prom photos.

 

The photoshoot itself took honest to god  hours.  Dean felt like his face was about to fall off from all the smiling by the time Lisa was finally hugging her parents goodbye and climbing into the passenger seat of Dean's car. Dean received a worryingly firm look from her father when he promised to make sure she got home okay, before he was climbing into the driver's seat and pulling off the curb.

 

Prom, Dean realized pretty swiftly after that, wasn't Dean's favorite type of party.

 

It was too formal, there was strictly no alcohol involved, and teachers were parading the perimeters of the school hall to make sure none of the students were busy grinding on each other to one of their stupid slow-dance songs. Slow dance songs, however, were apparently Lisa's  favorite  kind.

 

They were dancing, Dean's hands on Lisa's waist and her arms around his neck, and Dean was silently trying to think about what the time was and why he hadn't seen Castiel or Charlie yet. He couldn't even look around the gymnasium to try and spot them, either, because Lisa was making some kind of intense eye contact with him, her dark red lips curving into a tiny smile.

 

Her hand slipped up to the back of his neck, fingers running through the short hairs there. “Aren't you ever gonna kiss me?” she murmured then, and Dean actually felt his stomach physically flip inside himself.

 

Shit. He was surprised he hadn't even thought about it until then - but at the prompting, he remembered who he was and what prom dates were supposed to do. Besides, he'd wanted to kiss Lisa for  years already.    
  
  
  


“Uh. Uh, yeah. Alright.”

 

Real fucking  smooth,  Winchester.

 

He swallowed, leaning forwards, and closed his eyes as he kissed her, just briefly. And he tried to ignore the disappointment that settled in his gut as he did so.

 

She was beautiful, he knew that. But after years of admiring her from afar, it hurt to realize right there and then that she wasn't what he wanted. Dean couldn't even explain it. They’d kissed, just like that, and sparks hadn’t flew, his heart hadn’t jumped out of his chest - instead, he’d suppressed a grimace at the feeling of her lipstick against his mouth, and he’d tried not to seem as confused as he felt. He just knew, in that moment, that Lisa wasn't what he wanted. Just someone he'd always  thought  he wanted.

 

He still had half a mind to kiss her some more, though, because it wasn't fair if Dean's internal crisis ruined Lisa's prom night. She deserved to enjoy herself and have a good time, and maybe she actually liked Dean - in which case, thank  god  school was over. They wouldn't have to make awkward eye contact in the corridors after Dean told her he wasn't interested - despite being ridiculously keen in the first place.

 

How the hell was he not interested ?

 

As Lisa kissed him again, however, Dean pushed all that to the back of his mind and tried to enjoy himself, because  hell , he was a mess. What kind of a weirdo has a crush on a girl for the whole of highschool, then immediately retracts it the second the girl  kisses them? What the hell was wrong with him? How did that even  happen ?

 

He was still wondering that same question as made his excuses to leave and wound up hovering by the punch bowl ten minutes later, silently hoping someone had spiked it so he could calm his nerves.

 

“Dean!”

 

He winced at the sound of his name, almost choking on his drink as he turned around. The arms that immediately wrapped around him were reassuringly familiar.

 

“Charlie,” he grinned, patting her back before they broke apart. He looked her up and down. “You look incredible!” he told her, before nudging her with his elbow. “Bet Dorothy did a double take.”

 

Charlie flushed. “Shut up, I haven't even seen her yet. But if she's not into this, then I'm really moving on and getting a new crush,” she smirked, gesturing at her dress. It was tight in just all the right places. Honestly, she looked beautiful. And she was right about getting a new crush if Dorothy still wasn’t interested when she looked like  that . Still, Dean was done with thinking about crushes for one night, so he said nothing and instead looked over Charlie’s shoulder at the people behind her.

 

Immediately his eyes landed on Castiel talking with Kevin.

 

Dean smiled at the sight of the other boy, feeling his nerves settle somewhat.

 

He head over to him, touching his elbow gently. “It's Dean,” he murmured as Castiel looked over. “Looking good still.” He smiled, checking Castiel out briefly. “How come it took you so long to get here?”

 

Castiel shrugged, pressing his lips together. “I think you were busy with Lisa when we arrived.”

 

There was something in his voice that Dean couldn't quite place, but he shrugged it off as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, thinking back to Lisa's red lipstick and how easily that stuff spread around.

 

He couldn't hang out with them for too long, though. He caught up a bit with Kevin who was there with his girlfriend, Channing, and the three of them talked a little bit about plans for the after party. Kevin wasn't sure he would go. Castiel was still insistent upon it, even though he had looked a little stressed out when Dean brought it up. Dean figured it would be fun, though. A chance for Castiel to let loose and just enjoy himself, and Dean would be there to make sure he didn't get too drunk, and he'd be there to help him get home even if he did.

 

God, okay. Dean would really have to lay off the alcohol if he planned on being the  sensible  friend. He'd never done that before.

 

What dragged him away from his friends (again) for the night, was Lisa, who wanted some more pictures before the night was over. Besides, the school had hired and a professional photographer, so Dean supposed they might as well make the most of it.

 

As he stood there, his hand resting delicately on her waist, hers on his chest, Dean couldn't help but wish he had the guts to ask his friends to join him for some photos instead. Lisa was pretty and all - and great company; she didn't take herself too seriously, and she'd been to every baseball game to support Dean, even the away ones - but asides from today, they'd never been anything more than  casual friends . Even though Dean had always thought he'd wanted more than that.

 

Prom wasn't a time for casual friends. It was a time for best friends, and best friends only.

 

He didn't really see his friends throughout the rest of the event. They announced prom king and prom queen (Lisa won prom queen, and Dean honestly meant every cheer and whoop he threw her way) and then they ran through all the smaller awards. Dean won for best looking in the year, Kevin won the award for smartest in the year, but best of all, Castiel won the award for being the kindest.

 

It was the most deserved award ever, and Dean felt like his school was finally paying back for all the shit  some  members of the year had put Castiel through over time. Gordon and Alastair weren't even at prom - they'd been banned a while back for sneaking alcohol onto school property one too many times - but seeing Castiel go up on stage (guided by Charlie) felt the the biggest ‘fuck you’ of all to them, and to anyone else who had ever been an ass to him in the past.

 

Dean clapped for him harder than ever, weaving his way through the crowd, away from Lisa, as he found Castiel afterwards.

 

“Kindest in the year, huh?” he beamed, hand touching Castiel's elbow briefly before clapping him on the shoulder. “Sounds about right.”

 

Castiel's face turned a faint shade of red. “You got voted best looking,” he countered.

 

“Reckon you're not the only kid round here who's blind,” Dean smirked, and Castiel chuckled, reaching over to push at Dean's shoulder. “I reckon people are gonna start heading over to Benny's,” he added after a moment. “You think you're ready?”

 

Castiel shrugged. “What about Lisa?”

 

Dean blinked, glancing over his shoulder to where Lisa was now talking to a guy called Matt, laughing at something he said. He wondered if he and Lisa looked good together as a couple. When they'd kissed before, Dean had felt weird, but he also felt like they  could  work. Maybe. If they tried hard enough. It wasn’t what he wanted, though, he reminded himself.

 

“I'll make sure she can catch a ride to wherever she's going,” Dean said, squeezing Castiel's elbow as he wandered over to her.

 

Lisa wasn't going to Benny's after party, as it happened. She had plans for some other party elsewhere, and Dean made her promise to get home okay, and to text if she had any trouble, and to text when she got home.

 

“Are you always this overprotective?” she half-joked, rolling her eyes, and Dean shrugged.

 

“Your dad's a cop, Lis’. I don't wanna die if you get into any trouble, thanks.”

 

She laughed it off, and Dean disappeared to go find Castiel, Kevin and Charlie again. He was designated driver, seeing as he was playing at being the sober friend for the night, and he was the only one who could drive,  and the only one who knew the way to Benny's.

 

Benny was a friend of Dean's from the baseball team. Him and Victor were the only two guys on that team that Dean really got along with and hung out with. They were the kind of people that Dean could let himself go a little wild with, whilst not being the same level of bad influences as Gordon and Alastair had been in the past.

 

“Is my hair still okay?” Castiel asked as they arrived, Charlie in the backseat on her own - Kevin had decided in the end that the best kind of afterparty was an early night in bed, watching  Gilmore Girls.

 

Dean looked over at him, reaching across to fix Castiel's fringe by pushing it out of his eyes. “You look great. I’m telling you, big guy. Tonight's gonna be your night.” He grinned as he thumped Castiel's shoulder before climbing out of the Impala. Charlie followed soon after, climbing out on Castiel's side and helping him with the curb.

 

The music was already blaring as they head up Benny's front drive. His parents were pretty relaxed; they’d left town for the weekend with Benny's word that there would be minimal alcohol and minimal mess when they returned. That already seemed to have entirely gone out of the window by the time Dean, Castiel and Charlie arrived.

 

“Brother!” Benny beamed when he saw Dean. He pulled him into a tight hug, Dean's body vibrating with the bass notes of the music. “Lookin’ good, hot stuff,” he teased as he leaned back, hand patting Dean's cheek. “Best looking boy in the year, huh? How's it feel?”

 

Dean rolled his eyes, shoving Benny's hand away. “Screw you,” he grinned.

 

“Aw, gorgeous. You been leadin’ me on?”

 

“You're an idiot, Benny.”

 

“ Your idiot.”

 

He gave Dean another shit eating grin, and at Dean's side, even  Castiel  rolled his eyes. It was their dynamic, though. The main aspect of being Benny's friend was suffering through all his lame flirtations - it was his idea of entertainment, and he especially loved it when Dean squirmed at a joke that was one step too far and just a little bit  too  graphic for anyone's liking.

 

“The drinks are in the kitchen,” Benny continued. “And Cas? He drinking?”

 

“Yes,” Castiel answered for himself, sounding as determined as he looked. He reached for Dean's arm, finding it, before taking his hand and putting it onto his own elbow. It was a not-so-subtle way of silently demanding Dean to direct him through to the kitchen. Dean got the message.

 

Of course, having Castiel Novak at a highschool party was something of a novelty to the already  drunk  bunch of students. Castiel was the blind kid - the kid that people either pitied or tormented, or just didn't talk to - so for him to show up and socialize  like everybody else … it was unusual.

 

Dean should've realized what would happen.

 

For one thing, it turned out that Castiel was beyond determined to be considered ‘normal’.

 

“Are you sure about this?” Dean asked, eyeing the shot of vodka in Castiel's hands. It was his second one already.

 

His constant concern seemed to be the final straw for the other boy.

 

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel muttered. “Don't you and your friends go out and get drunk all the time? I can handle it.” And with that, he simply downed his shot, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand once he was done and giving a full body shudder and grimace at the taste.

 

Dean didn't even get a chance to try and argue before he was asking Ash for another one.

 

“Ash, go easy on him,” Dean said quietly, giving his friend a warning look. Ash often didn't know boundaries even when they were staring him in the face.

 

“Dean, I said I can handle it,” Castiel repeated stubbornly.

 

“I just don't think you should over do it - you've never had alcohol before.”

 

“Didn't you say I should have fun?”

 

“You guys,” Victor chuckled from across the table, looking a little awkwardly between the two of them. It was only then that Dean realized their arguing had started to overtake the conversation around the kitchen counter. “Maybe you should cool it,” he suggested, not unkindly. He smiled a little, as though trying to reassure Dean.

 

Dean clenched his jaw. “Alright,” he muttered, holding his hand up in surrender. “I'll back off.” He reached forward and squeezed Castiel's shoulder. “You're right. Just relax, have fun. Don't have too much in one go, and I'll leave you to it for a while.”

 

At that, Castiel looked grateful. He even caught Dean's hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. Dean took it as his cue to leave.

 

If Castiel had any trouble, then somebody would let Dean know. Or he'd ring Dean himself. Until then, Dean disappeared outside to the backyard where Benny and the smokers were. In those twenty minutes, Dean had his first ever cigarette and made friends with a dodgy-looking drug dealer who went by Crowley. He didn't go to their school and Dean had no idea why he was even at Benny's after party or how Benny knew him, but he didn't comment on it as he coughed on the smoke flooding into his lungs. His mouth tasted like ash but the cigarettes made his whole body buzz with satisfaction.

 

He wasn't sure he'd be an actual smoker anytime soon, but he could maybe get behind social smoking. If it weren't for the fact that it would destroy his lungs and upset his mom.

 

By the time Dean head back inside, the smell of smoke clinging to his suit and fingertips, everyone indoors was a lot drunker than they had been before he'd left. He estimated he'd been outside for twenty to thirty minutes - long enough for his fingers to feel slightly numb from the cool air outdoors, anyway. He did a brief scan of the kitchen, his eyebrows sloping into a frown when he saw Castiel's chair from earlier was now occupied by a girl with short blonde hair.

 

Wait.

 

What?

 

Dean felt his heart immediately stop. Christ. He shouldn't have left Castiel alone, no matter how independent he wanted to be,  Dean shouldn't have left him alone.  What the  hell had he been thinking? 

 

“Benny - Benny!” Dean said quickly, finding Benny and scrambling to take his arm. “Did you see where Cas went?”

 

When Benny looked at him, his eyes were slightly unfocused and he chuckled deeply, leaning forwards onto Dean as he wound an arm around Dean's neck. Jeez. Were all drunk people this clingy? It  sucked  being the only sober guy at a party, Dean decided then.

 

“Cassie had a few too many, brother,” Benny slurred, clapping Dean on the back. “But c’mon. Live a little. Wanna drink?”

 

“No. Where's Cas?” Dean asked impatiently. “Benny, did you see where he went?”

 

Benny shrugged, reaching for the kitchen counter to grab another can of beer. He cracked it open and gulped it down, his hand wiping at his mouth a moment later as he muffled a belch. “Toilet,” he said then. “Probably the toilet.”

 

The only toilet in Benny's house was upstairs.

 

Dean immediately made a beeline out of the kitchen, shouldering his way through the crowd and trying not to cringe as someone spilt beer down his back. Honestly, Benny's house was going to be a  mess once this party had ended.

 

Thankfully, the stairs provided something of a sanctuary from the noise and chaos of the kitchen and living room, and Dean revelled in the silence of the muted music as he took the stairs two at a time.

 

“..  he won  best looking , Charlie…”

 

Those were the first words Dean heard. It didn't sound like it was coming from the bathroom, though; Castiel's voice was coming from the opposite side of the hallway. Dean slowed down, hesitating as he fiddled with his tie, his heart thumping in his chest.

 

“I know he did. I was there, dude.”

 

“So is he really the best looking boy in our year? I can't tell. I wish I could tell.”

 

Castiel's voice was slightly slurred, a little deeper than usual, and Dean could hear the sound of movement from his right hand side. It sounded like it was coming from Benny's bedroom.

 

“Yeah, he's - I mean, he's Dean. What d’you want me to say? He’s… he’s Dean,” Charlie murmured patiently, their voices muffled through the walls.

 

Dean hovered in the hallway as he reached Benny's bedroom door, watching through the crack as Charlie rubbed Castiel's back. He had lost his suit jacket at some point, and his tie was thrown over his shoulder, and he was sat on Benny's bed, a bucket parked between his legs as he hunched over himself. His fringe had fallen forwards into his eyes and Dean desperately wanted to push it back. However, something held him from going inside and making his presence known.

 

“He was always the best looking,” Castiel mumbled then, his eyes closed as he slumped forwards even further. His hair was a mess, as though he’d been running his hands through it repeatedly, and he looked beyond dishevelled. “I miss being able to see him.”

 

“Cas…”

 

“S’why I didn't talk to him for so long, Charlie.” Castiel sniffed, rubbing at his nose and then at his eyes. He looked as though he had been crying, Dean realized then. “Couldn't bear to - to be right next to him and not  see him. You don't know what it's like. Nobody does. Nobody fucking knows.”

 

“I know. I know, it's impossible for me to understand. But Dean's back now - he's been back for, like, a year, Cas. You can relax now.”

 

Castiel just shook his head, his face burying into his hands, and Dean desperately wanted to intervene, but instead he simply watched as Castiel raked his fingers through his dark hair slowly, looking pained even from the distance between them. “I can't relax, Charlie,” he insisted. “Sometimes, he's next to me, and I can't bear it.” It was as though he was saying things that had been bottled up for centuries. As though his filter had completely disintegrated and he was there, on Benny's bed, pouring his damn heart out to Charlie Bradbury and (unknowingly) Dean Winchester. “I can't do it,” Castiel continued. “I can't - not anymore. It's so  hard . And now - there’s  Lisa ... He doesn’t even know. And even if he knew, it wouldn't matter. It  doesn't matter!” He screwed up his face, his fingers pressed to his eyes as tears ran down his cheeks, shining in the light. “I wish I could see,” he said into his hands, his breathing coming in gasps now. “And I-I wish I wasn’t f-fucked up, Charlie. I’m s-sorry. I’m  sorry .”

 

“Cas, just breathe. Okay? Just breathe. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

 

It fell on deaf ears. Castiel just shook his head, not looking up from his hands as he leaned away from Charlie. He looked agonized. “I just -I wish I didn’t - didn’t  feel  l-like  this .”

 

“Cas, wh-”

 

“-I’m fucking in  love with him, Charlie.”

 

Dean felt his heart stop.

 

The words were spat out, almost like poison, and it felt like someone had just doused Dean in a bucket of ice cold water. He couldn’t breathe either, now. And from within Benny’s bedroom, any semblance of composure that Castiel had left, dissipated immediately. Dean could only watch numbly as Castiel he buckled forwards and began to retch into the bucket hopelessly, his shoulders shaking with the force of it all, but it sounded more like a sob instead of anything like vomit. Beside him, Charlie didn’t hesitate to gather him into her arms, her hand rubbing his back, holding him close. 

 

Dean couldn't make out what was being said, then. Whatever Castiel was saying, it was mumbled into Charlie's neck as her fingers smoothed through his hair, attempting to calm him down.

 

It was then that she looked up, her eyes meeting Dean through the crack in the door.

 

This time, Dean felt a wave of nausea wash over him. Her gaze held so much silent meaning. Dean took a stumbling step back, his mouth opening and closing for a moment before he turned around, sucked in a breath, and hurried back down the stairs before he could think to stop himself.

 

His mind was reeling as he found himself stepping back outside into the cool night air, accepting a cigarette from Crowley again the moment it was offered. The guy made some kind of comment over Dean’s stressed out appearance, but Dean didn’t even register it. He ignored everything as he moved to the back of the yard, near the hedgerows where it was dark and completely empty. He swore as he caught his thumb in the flame, but he barely felt the pain. The cigarettes had cleared his head earlier. They’d calmed him down. Helped him feel better about everything - almost like alcohol, but he was still safe to drive. As Dean fumblingly lit the cigarette that dangled between his lips, all he was hoping for was to be able to calm down. To be able to  think .

 

Castiel was in love with him.

 

Castiel was  gay ?

 

God, that wasn't even important. If Dean thought about it hard enough then maybe he'd be kicking himself - maybe he'd just spent his whole life missing all the signs? But it didn't matter. It didn't matter that he'd spent the past decade or so being completely oblivious to the way Castiel felt about him - what mattered was what the  hell Dean was supposed to do about it now.

 

Did he love Castiel, too?

 

He squeezed his eyes closed, sucking in the smoke and holding it in his lungs until it burned. Only then did he exhale. He pressed the tips of his fingers into his eyes, his cheeks hot despite the cool air.

 

“Dean?”

 

Dean tensed. He looked over his shoulder and offered Charlie a thin smile as she neared the end of the yard, the house lights behind her silhouetting her small frame.

 

“Hey,” he mumbled, looking back down at the cigarette burning peacefully between his fingers. He was an idiot. Out here, burning his lungs away because he was sad about something stupid. “Is he okay?”

 

“I said I’d get him some water.” She reached Dean's side, raising an eyebrow at the cigarette. “Are  you okay?”

 

Dean let out a short laugh. “M’fine.”

 

“I think you should talk to him.”

 

“And tell him what? That I don't feel the same way?” God. Dean didn't want to break Castiel's damn  heart .

 

Instead, Charlie just blinked, as though surprised. “You don't?”

 

“What?”

 

“You don't feel the same way?”

 

Dean scoffed, flicking the ashes of his cigarette to the floor as he took another drag and crossed his arms over his chest. It had been a long night. Longest night of his life, perhaps. “What kinda question is that?” he said defensively.

 

Beside him, Charlie shrugged. “You two are just really close, I guess,” she sighed. “I don't know, Dean. I just think you shouldn't let this slide. Cas is - I mean, he was clearly upset.”

 

Dean couldn't even argue about that. He'd seen with his own two eyes just how sad Castiel had been -- and not just about Dean. About everything. And it  hurt  to see his best friend like that. And why the  hell  was Dean always some source of some kind of pain for Castiel, anyway? It wasn’t  fair . All Dean had ever tried to do was look out for the other boy.

 

He wiped his hand across his brow and puffed out his cheeks, feeling like a failure of a friend (and not for the first time, to say the least). “Jeez, Charlie,” he breathed. “What the fuck even happened to him? I was gone for a half hour, tops.”

 

Charlie grimaced, eyeing the cigarette again a little hesitantly as she curled her arms around herself to keep from the night chill. “I think he just drank too much way too quickly for a first timer.”

 

“Yeah, but he was crying - like, having some kind of a breakdown on you. That’s - that-”

 

“-He was just overwhelmed,” she interrupted gently. “You know. He’s never been drunk before, and he started freaking out because he felt like the whole world was moving, but he couldn’t see anything - and people kept knocking him around, cos they were drunk too. I just… I took him upstairs so he could clear his head.”

 

“Clear his head. Right.” He scoffed quietly and took a drag of his cigarette, flicking the ash onto the floor. As though he’d been smoking his whole life, and not just one night. “I should’ve been there, dammit. I shouldn’t have left him on his own like that.”

 

“Dean, don’t be ridiculous.”

 

“I’m not being ridiculous - I was supposed to look out for him! I wasn’t supposed to let him out of my sight, but I did, and  look what happened .”

 

“Stop it,” Charlie snapped. Actually snapped, too. Enough so that it even caught Dean off guard, and he found himself speechless for a moment. Charlie took his hesitation and ran with it. “Cas isn’t your responsibility,” she told him simply. “He’s your  friend . He’s allowed to get too drunk if he wants to - he’s safe here, he wasn’t on his own, and if he regrets it in the morning, then he’ll learn from it. It’s his choice.”

 

Dean didn’t see it that way. If something bad happened to Castiel, then it was on Dean. Nobody else. Anyone could take advantage of him.

 

Charlie smiled a little sadly. Maybe she understood. 

 

“I think I’m gonna head inside,” Dean muttered then. “I’ll get Cas that water. And maybe get him home somehow.”  

 

He sighed a little and flicked his cigarette before dropping it to the ground and treading it into the dirt. As he turned to leave, Charlie took his arm. 

 

“Dean, if you wanna talk,” she told him carefully, “about, I dunno… feelings and all that crap - then you’ve got my number.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“So you’ll call me?”

 

Dean nodded, managing a tiny smile. His head was still reeling from a number of different things - but the loudest thought in his mind just then was the simplest one of them all:  Cas loved him . Actually  loved him. 

 

The  fuck was Dean meant to do about that?

 

He fought back a sigh and pulled Charlie into a hug, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. “Text me when you get home safe,” he told her, before he was disappearing back into the kitchen, pouring out a glass of water and heading back upstairs.

 

Castiel was lying back on the bed when Dean reached Benny's room again, looking a little more composed than before, but not by much. The other boy's tie was still over his shoulder, his dress shirt now rucked up high enough to show the smooth expanse of his stomach, from the strong v of his hips right to his belly button, but it looked as though he’d stopped crying. Dean cleared his throat.

 

“Mm. Charlie,” Castiel slurred, a hand reaching out as he turned his head in the direction of the sound. “M’sorry. You can party. I'll stay here.”

 

“It's Dean,” Dean whispered, and he hated the way Castiel tensed a little, his eyes opening and gazing, unfocused, in Dean's general direction. “I got you some water.”

 

Castiel sat up a little, and Dean wrapped the others hands carefully around the glass, helping him guide it to his mouth shakily. “I thought you'd gone home,” Castiel mumbled after a while, slumping forwards and leaning his whole body against Dean's side. Dean absently ran his fingers through the others hair, finally pushing his fringe back out of his eyes.

 

“And leave you here on your own?” Dean smiled. “Not a chance.”

 

He sat down on the edge of the bed and waited patiently as Castiel drained the whole glass, spilling water occasionally down his front. He had a hand pressed to his forehead, his face screwed up. “I feel sick,” he told Dean miserably. “I already threw up twice.”

 

“That'll be the vodka.”

 

“And tequila,” Castiel sighed. His nose wrinkled. “And beer. And wine.”

 

“Jesus.”

 

Castiel shrugged with a tiny smile, leaning forward until his chin found Dean's shoulder, his arms winding around Dean's middle. Dean couldn't help but wonder if the other boy was happy or sad that he was there. On the one hand, maybe it hurt, like he'd told Charlie it did. But on the other hand, maybe he was just glad Dean was there regardless. It was weird how everything had changed for them that night, but Castiel was totally unaware of it. How long had he been sitting on his feelings for?

 

“Come on,” Dean murmured distractedly. “Let's get you home, tough guy.”

 

He helped Castiel off the bed, winding his arm around Dean's shoulders as they shuffled down the corridor, Castiel stumbling and leaning against Dean completely. Dean had to wonder how on earth Charlie managed to get him up the stairs to begin with. The girl was stronger than she looked.

 

Stairs, as it happened, were hard for Castiel at the best of times. Being drunk wasn't exactly a good condition for tackling them in the slightest, and Dean wound up all but carrying Castiel in order to avoid having him slip and fall to his death.

 

They drove home in relative silence, Castiel dozing against Dean's shoulder, his mouth half open with the occasional, quiet snore. He was beautiful, Dean thought absently. He should have won best looking, not Dean. It wasn't fair.

 

They had to be quiet as they snuck into Castiel's house that night, Castiel again stumbling as he leaned against Dean, chuckling a little drunkenly as Dean supported him. Dean just chewed his lip and guided Castiel through to his bedroom, swearing as he nearly knocked the coat rack over.

 

Castiel clung to him as Dean helped him into bed, the other boys hands clutching loosely at Dean's shirt, and it was only then that Dean realized they hadn't found Castiel's suit jacket before leaving. He would have to ask Benny for it later.

 

“Cas, what're you doing?” Dean smiled as Castiel tried to tug him down into the bed.

 

“Aren't you gonna stay?” he mumbled into the pillow, sounding adorably sleepy. Something in Dean twisted uncomfortably at that, however. He couldn't stay. Castiel was in love with him, Dean couldn't lead him on further. “Dean?”

 

Dean swallowed, looking down at his dishevelled best friend, his hair all over the place, his tie hanging loose around his neck and his shirt untucked and halfway unbuttoned.

 

Someone had to stay with him, if only to make sure he didn't puke himself to death in the night.

 

“Yeah, I'm here,” Dean murmured as he shrugged his suit jacket off and abandoned it on the floor. “Right here.”

 

He climbed into the bed, moving so that his back was pressed against Castiel's bedroom wall, his chest to Castiel's back. Dean wrapped his arms around Castiel's middle, his nose resting against the back of Castiel's neck as he closed his eyes. Beside him, Castiel relaxed, his hand fumbling to find Dean's against his chest, and Dean couldn't help but feel utterly content. This, right here, with his arms wrapped around Castiel in a cocoon of blankets and unbuttoned shirts, was where Dean belonged. It was where he felt safest. Happiest. There was no denying that - not anymore.

 

As he fell completely asleep, one thought solidified in Dean's mind.

 

He was in love with Cas, too .

 

After all, how could he  not be? After everything they'd been through together, it only made logical sense. All he had to do was tell him.  

 

It was easier thought than done, Dean realized pretty swiftly.

 

For one thing, he wasn't convinced that Castiel even remembered anything he'd said to Charlie that night. He claimed to not remember much after his fourth shot - and, honestly, Dean was just impressed the other boy hadn't wound up with some kind of alcohol poisoning, given all that he'd had to drink in such a short period of time. It was no surprise that he'd ended up nearly comatose.

 

Regardless, it was summer. They'd graduated from school, and they had a seemingly endless amount of time stretching before them. Dean just had no idea what he was meant to do.

 

It took him three weeks to come to terms with how he felt. It was all well and good lying in the dark one day, falling asleep to the soul crushing realization that he was maybe a little bit gay and most definitely a little bit in love with his best friend - but actually wrapping his head around those facts? It was a little harder.

 

Dean really did take Charlie up on the ‘feelings’ phone calls, as well, and he owed her big time because of it, given the insane amount of times he'd ended up calling her in the middle of the night, just to talk through everything crazy that was going through his head. She thought he was bisexual, Dean thought she was ridiculous. Even though being bisexual explained a hell of a lot. It explained why he thought Han Solo was the best looking guy on the planet, and why he occasionally liked to pause  Dr Sexy MD.  whenever Doctor Sexy appeared on the screen. Mostly, though, it explained all the times he’d ever looked at Castiel for just a little too long.

 

Castiel, thankfully, remained oblivious to the changes in their relationship that he had unknowingly caused. They still hung out every day, but now Dean found himself reading into the way Castiel’s fingers might brush against his unnecessarily sometimes, or the way that Castiel would play with his hair as they lay in the field together. Small things that Dean had put down to friendship, or maybe even the fact that Castiel was blind and so he didn’t always realize he’d be touching Dean until it was too late, but now Dean was viewing it all in a different light. Castiel only ever did those things  with Dean , and  Dean  alone. And he couldn’t help but realize that he returned the affections tenthfold, every single time. 

 

There were so many times, throughout summer, that Dean thought he might tell Castiel how he felt, just out of the blue. Whenever they were alone, and Dean had all the privacy in the world to press up against Castiel’s side, Castiel’s chin on his shoulder, and all Dean wanted to do was take his hand. 

 

Something held him back every time, however. He knew how Castiel felt, but he couldn’t just - just  say it back without warning, could he? 

 

Fuck, everything felt like a mess.

 

“Are you alright?” Castiel asked once, his words vibrating against Dean’s chest from where his head was resting. 

 

“Hm?”

 

“Are you alright?”

 

Dean looked down, away from the TV where he was playing a videogame. “What?” he mumbled. In truth, he’d been wondering if he should  talk to Castiel about his feelings - and about what had happened on prom night - or if he should just blurt out that one line one day and hope for the best.

 

“You’re just quiet,” Castiel sighed.

 

“Cos I’m playing a game.”

 

“Yeah, but usually you yell at the TV more,” he pointed out before shrugging. “I was just making sure.”

 

“I’m good,” Dean lied.

 

They needed to talk. Dean wouldn’t be good until they did. He wouldn’t be able to stop  thinking about it all until the two of them had sat down and  done something about whatever the hell Castiel had said and meant on prom night. Dean hated having it hanging over him every minute of every day.

 

It wasn’t until the middle of the summer, however, that Dean finally summoned the balls to talk to  someone about the way he felt. The middle of the night in the middle of the summer, to be precise.

 

“I swear to god, this had better be interesting,” Charlie grumbled down the phone line, sounding exhausted.

 

It was nearly two o’clock in the morning. Dean had probably woken her up. Damn.

 

“Sorry,” he winced, rolling onto his side where he lay in bed. “I just wanted to call you in case I die tomorrow and this is the last time we talk.”

 

Charlie didn’t even miss a beat. The kid was tough to freak. “What’s tomorrow?”

 

“I’m gonna talk to Cas.”

 

This time, there was a pause. “Like… about what was said at the party?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Will it be a good talk, or a bad talk?”

 

“A good talk,” Dean said hesitantly, wanting to skirt around anything  too feelings based. “I think. If Cas still feels the way he did.”

 

“Damn,” Charlie breathed. “So, you’re not freaked out about it anymore?”

 

Dean laughed weakly. “Still freaked out,” he sighed, “and just…” He thought back to kissing Lisa at prom. That had been the biggest disappointment of his  life . He didn’t want that with Cas. Ever since he’d overheard Castiel talking to Charlie, it had opened Dean’s eyes big time to the (slightly) massive crush he’d had on his best friend for an indeterminate amount of time. But crushes weren’t trustworthy, Dean had also decided, because he’d had a crush on Lisa for years, too, but when it came down to it, he ultimately wasn’t bothered by her. Or by the thought of dating her.

 

“God, Charlie,” he whispered, running a hand through his hair. “What if I fuck this up?”

 

“Dude. Come on.”

 

“I’m serious. What if this whole thing backfires, and Cas and me wind up not even being friends by the end of it?”  Shit . Dean couldn’t handle being cut out of Castiel’s life again. “Or - hell, maybe he was just drunk and didn’t even mean what he said to you that time…”

 

“You’re stressing yourself out,” Charlie told him. “You just - I guess you just have a choice. You either carry on being his friend, with the two of you silently pining after each other like a pair of idiots -  or you take a gamble and potentially wind up a hundred times better off because of it.”

 

Dean clenched his jaw, staring across his room in the darkness. “M’not an idiot,” he muttered finally.

 

“Then prove it.” He could almost hear Charlie smirking. “And call me when you’ve sorted it all out and wanna celebrate.”

 

And then, without another word, the line went dead, leaving Dean on his own with a new sense of determination.

 

He had it easier than most, after all. He'd heard from Castiel's own mouth that the other boy was in love with him. The only thing terrifying about telling Castiel how he felt would be that Dean would be acknowledging his own feelings out loud for the first time ever - in a way that he’d carefully avoided from saying out loud, even to Charlie. But really, Dean wasn’t sure what it was he was so afraid of. The two of them had already reached a pretty low point in their friendship, and if they’d come back from that, then maybe they could come back from anything. The only way was up, Dean realized then as he lay in bed that night, waiting for morning to arrive

 

It was July 12th.

 

A Wednesday.

 

Dean had watched the sunrise through the cracks in his curtains, unable to sleep.

 

“Where are we going?” Castiel asked that afternoon as he climbed into the Impala, feeling out for the seatbelt over his shoulder.

 

“You'll see,” Dean murmured.

 

“I highly doubt that.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Smart ass.”

 

He pulled off the curb, feeling the thrum of the engine beneath his feet as they rolled down the road and round the corner. The car was mostly to throw Castiel off. If they walked to where they were headed then he might know where it was they were going, just by muscle memory. Dean didn't want him to know just yet. He wasn't sure why.

 

When he killed the engine, he looked over at Castiel who was staring straight ahead, unseeing. It didn't matter that he couldn't see, though. Dean was starting to realize more than ever that life was about what you felt, not what you saw. Which is why he took Castiel's hand once they were both outside. Not his elbow.

 

“What are you doing?” Castiel frowned, hesitatingly linking their fingers together, almost suspicious - as though Dean was about to trick him.

 

“Just trust me,” Dean said softly. And Castiel did.

 

He led them through the park, the sun hot on his bare skin, his arms shining with a fresh summer tan, freckles starting to sprinkle across his shoulders even more so than usual, and he tried to ignore the knot of nerves that twisted in his stomach. It was only once they reached the centre of the park that Dean let go of Castiel's hand.

 

“Dean?”

 

“Just walk forwards,” Dean told him, touching the small of Castiel's back briefly before he dropped his hand to his side again. “I'll guide you.”

 

Castiel didn't move for a moment, almost steeling himself, before he took a careful step forwards. He had his arms outstretched, his eyebrows sloped together in a frown of confusion, and Dean could remember being eleven, guiding Castiel across the field with his mom's scarf tied around his head. It seemed so ridiculous now.

 

“Watch your left foot,” Dean murmured from behind Castiel, watching as the other boy hesitantly reached out his foot, nudging the root of the tree before stepping over it.

 

His hands found the bark not long after that, and Dean watched as Castiel's fingers skirted across the wood slowly, feeling it out. It reminded Dean of every time he'd ever watched Castiel read Braille. Dean hadn't been able to pick it up as easily as Castiel had, but now he thought that maybe it was because he didn't have the same patience that Castiel did. He could never be bothered to feel out the letters as carefully as Castiel had done, even when he could see.

 

“Do you know where we are?” Dean murmured, and he watched as Castiel smiled slowly to himself, nodding after a moment.

 

“Of course,” he said. He looked in Dean's direction. “We're at the oak tree.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Close your eyes.”

 

Castiel pulled a face at that, looking almost insulted. “I can't see even with them open, so whatever you're planning-”

 

“-it's not like that,” Dean said quickly. “Please. Just close them.”

 

Again, Castiel still looked unconvinced, but he did as he was told. His eyes fell shut, and he stood there, the oak tree at his back, the sunlight speckled against his skin through the leaves above them.

 

Dean didn't give himself time for self-doubt. He couldn't  say it, the words would get stuck in his throat and die, so instead he'd opted to not use his words.

 

He stepped forwards, their feet almost touching as he leaned into Castiel’s space, and he could feel Castiel’s breath against his skin. And then, he kissed him.

 

Castiel tensed. 

 

Dean caught his breath. 

 

And then the other boy kissed him back, as though he couldn't quite help himself. 

 

It was brief, and hesitant, and it wasn’t nearly enough, but god had it felt awesome. Dean's heart was his throat as he leaned back again, half wanting to smile, but also half wanting to run back to the Impala and pretend he hadn’t just done what he’d done. In that moment, Dean had felt everything. The nerves, the excitement, the hope and the fear. Everything. And all he could do was stand there, frozen, and look at Castiel, his heart pounding of his heart in his chest…

 

“What was that for?” Cas breathed at last, and Dean too felt himself let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in.

 

He swallowed, his heart hammering in his chest. 

 

Fucking say it , he thought to himself, as the words died on his lips.  Say it . 

 

“Dean,” Castiel mumbled, now sounding more upset than anything else. As he started to move away, Dean’s hand reached forwards instinctively, his fingertips brushing against Castiel's, and Castiel didn't hesitate to catch Dean's hand in his own, holding onto him tightly. “Why would you do that,” he continued quietly, “what the hell is going on?”

 

Fuck . This had been a bad idea. Kissing him had been a bad idea.  Use your words, Winchester . 

 

“I just -” he began weakly. “I don’t know.” 

 

“What do you mean you don’t know?” 

 

“I just mean - the way that you feel…”

 

“The way that I feel?” Castiel sounded defensive now. Almost angry.  Jesus . 

 

“For me, Cas. The way that you feel for me. I'm just trying to say-”

 

“-What d’you mean, the way I feel for you?” 

 

“Jesus, Cas. You  love me.”

 

It came out of his mouth before Dean could think to stop himself, and he watched as Castiel’s face went pale, his eyes widening. He looked as shocked as Dean felt. Fuck. This was all going wrong. At his side, Castiel pulled his hand away, pressing himself back against the oak tree to keep as much space between them both as physically possible.

 

“What are you talking about? I-”

 

“-On prom night,” Dean interrupted gently. “You were crying, and you told Charlie - you told her… you - you said that you were in love with me.” 

 

Castiel was shaking his head, his eyes panicked as he tried to meet Dean's gaze. “Why would I… why would I say that,” he mumbled weakly, and Dean felt his heart clench. 

 

Fuck it,  he thought.  You don't kiss someone back like that unless you care about them . 

 

“I wanted to tell you that I feel the same way,” Dean said at last, his voice unusually calm. Distanced from himself. He couldn't say that words exactly, but he could say  that , and maybe that would be enough. “I think I have done for a while,” he added softly. 

 

Castiel screwed his eyes shut then, leaning his head back against oak tree, and Dean watched the line of his throat as his adam’s apple rose and fell. He looked heartbroken, which wasn't what Dean had been expecting.  God , he thought suddenly,  maybe Castiel had changed his mind? 

 

“I can't even see you,” Castiel managed at last, breaking the silence and breaking Dean's train of thought. His voice was hoarse, as though the words were a struggle to say. “Dean, I - sometimes I don't even think I can remember your face.”

 

Dean could recognize what was happening here. Castiel’s voice was hitching the way it had done when they were younger and Castiel had cried over the phone about losing his sight. He looked as upset as he had done the day he'd told Dean that they couldn't be friends anymore. And Dean couldn't help but remember the way he'd cried to Charlie, talking about being blind, about not being able to see - not being able to see  Dean . 

 

God, Dean was tired of Castiel’s illness affecting more than just his eyes. 

 

“Cas,” he said quietly, reaching forwards until his hand found Castiel’s face, his thumb skirting across the other boy’s jaw. Castiel squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a shuddery breath. “You don't need to be able to see me,” Dean mumbled. “You know me better than anybody else - even if you don't even remember what I look like one day, you’d still know me the best. Seeing me isn't the most important thing.” 

 

“I just wish I could.” 

 

The way he said it made him sound so small. It was such an earnest desire - Castiel wanted something that so many people had so easily and took for granted on a daily basis. Dean would never not be grateful for the fact that he could see the other boy. He was grateful he could see the sharp edges of his cheekbones, the creases at his eyes when he squinted, the wrinkle of his nose when he smiled too wide, the curl of his hair around his ears. Dean wouldn't ever take that for granted. Not ever. 

 

He swallowed. “I know,” he said at last. “But I'm right here.” His free hand moved to find Castiel’s, tangling their fingers together tightly. “And… you know.” He shrugged.  Fucking say it.  “I'm in love with you.” 

 

It was the easiest thing Dean thought he'd ever said in his life. And it was worth it, too, just to see the way Castiel smiled, as though he was holding it back but still couldn't quite help himself. There was nerves in the way he smiled, but it was genuine too. Genuine joy. His fingers tightened in Dean's. 

 

“Dean, you don't-” he started, and Dean shook his head.

 

“-Don't fight me on this one, Cas,” he said softly. “I'm sure of it.” And then, once more for good luck: “I'm in love with you. And I know you love me, too.” He grimaced. “I mean, I hope you haven't changed your mind.”  

 

Castiel shook his head, disturbing Dean's hand against his face. When he smiled now, it was tiny and shy, but god did it make Dean's heart melt. “I haven't," he confirmed quietly.

 

Dean grinned, relief washing over him in waves. “Jesus, that's good to hear,” he said, and Castiel laughed weakly. 

 

“Doesn't it bother you?” Castiel mumbled at last. “That I can't see.”

 

Dean wrinkled his nose in a frown. “What kind of a question is that?”  A dumb one , he thought to himself by way of an answer. “You know it doesn't.” He swallowed, his chest aching. “The only person it bothers is you.” 

 

Castiel closed his eyes. “Maybe.” 

 

“You shouldn't let it get in the way of what you want - you shouldn't let it get in the way of your life, or in the way of anything,  period ,” Dean told him softly, his hand moving to the loops on Castiel’s jeans. He tugged him forwards gently, away from the tree that he was leaning against. “Besides,” Dean murmured, feeling the beginnings of a smile twitch at his lips. He leaned forwards, his nose nudging against Castiel’s gently, and Castiel’s free hand settled on Dean’s hip, grip tightening a little in anticipation. He closed his eyes, Castiel’s breath warm against his cheek, his hands the only things grounding Dean. “Love is blind anyway, right?" Dean finished softly, fighting down the bubble of laughter that rose in his chest. 

 

Without another word, he closed the gap between them. 

 

He could feel the curve of Castiel’s smile as they kissed again. Castiel was inexperienced, but he made up for it through enthusiasm alone as he pushed himself forwards into the kiss, pulling Dean closer until the space between them both was nonexistent. It sent Dean’s heart racing, his blood pumping and his chest  filling  with warmth. It wasn't like with Lisa, when his mind had been elsewhere, this was… it was  perfect.  Dean's mind was taken over by a mantra of  Cas, Cas, Cas.

 

He thought about every time he'd ever thought about how beautiful Castiel was. He thought about every time he'd wanted to protect the other boy, to make sure he was happy and safe, in any way possible. He thought about how he'd let Gordon Walker break his nose because at least it had meant Castiel had been left alone. But mostly he thought about all the nights they had curled up together in the dark, their hearts beating in time, and Dean had revelled in the warm safety of Castiel's arms, and he'd pushed down the desire to kiss him during each of those nights. He put that desire into the kiss right at that second, wanting Castiel to be certain of how he felt, even if he was certain of nothing else at all.

 

Dean had been in love with Castiel for years, he realized then as they broke apart, their laughter warm between them both as they kissed more chastely than before, chasing each others lips. He just hadn't been able to see it until then.

 

“Love is blind?” Castiel repeated once their heart rates had slowed, their breathing steady again. He smiled and shook his head. “Jesus, Dean, that joke was shit.”

 

Dean let out a choked laugh. “ Language , dude.”

 

Castiel’s smile widened. It was brighter than Death had ever seen it. “Fuck off,” he said, and Dean beamed right back at him. 

 

“It was my best joke yet.” 

 

“It was lame - and borderline offensive.” 

 

“Shut up. You laughed.”

 

Castiel just shook his head, as though he couldn't believe the situation they'd landed themselves in. In a month or so they'd be leaving for college together, but for now, they'd be figuring out who they were to each other. Who they could be. 

 

Dean looked down at their hands, fingers tangled together tightly. He knew who he wanted them to be.  

 

“I love you, too,” Castiel said suddenly, breaking the silence as they stood there beneath the tree, toes touching and noses inches apart. He said it like it was something he'd been dying to say for years, but hadn't ever been bold enough to. Dean could only smile wider. 

 

“I know,” he grinned, his cheeks aching with it.

 

And he really did know, too. Maybe he'd known the whole time. Maybe he'd only really realized it just then. Either way, it didn't matter. What mattered was the feeling of Castiel’s hand in his as they walked back to the Impala, Dean guiding the way. They had their entire lives ahead of them, he thought as they settled into the car and agreed on going out for a coffee. Their entire lives ahead of them and nothing to hold them back anymore.

 

And Dean knew one thing for certain then, as he looked at Castiel beside him. He knew he wanted to spend as much of his life with this boy as possible. For as long as Castiel would have him, Dean would be there.

 

_God_ , he thought to himself. Castiel was the best fucking friend in the world.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! I hope it was okay, maybe you even liked it, i don't know, but either way, please feel free to leave a comment and let me know your thoughts! this was the first kind of longish fanfic that I've uploaded on here (and completed) ahhh so any reviews or advice would be super appreciated! love to u all <3

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked it so far then please feel free to leave a kudos or a review, or alternatively, you could follow me on tumblr (@iregretsigningupalready) for updates etc or maybe mini ficlets if I start posting stuff there too :) reviews mean the world to me, so please let me know how I'm doing! <3


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